Forever Bound
by TallTalesInk
Summary: Twenty-four walk in single file, towards doom on death's doorstep. They move in chains forged from their fate, their only hope resting in each others graves. And so they march away, the chosen and the brave, but know that when the time comes, they are forever bound to these Games. 67th Hunger Games.
1. How Far We've Come

How Far We've Come

"Waking up at the start of the end of the world, but its feeling jut like every other morning before."

* * *

_Avanna Welcher Victor of the 66th Hunger Games_

* * *

Avanna stared at the bottle of pills on her dresser. It was a simple container with a transparent orange hue to the outside and a sharp white label that smelled like disinfectant. Inside she knew that the pills were small blue and circular, almost like a tear-drop that had been specially petrified just for her to consume.

She was supposed to take two of these every morning, but she rarely did so. The medicine didn't help. Rather it incapacitated her, making the world cloudy and her senses numb. Of course, there were days when she needed this, when the pain was so bad that she took four pills instead of two, just so that she could wake up hours later in a blissful haze.

Medicating herself today though seemed almost criminal.

After all, in a few hours, the reaping would be held, and after that she would be drowning more than just her own life with that pill bottle.

A gentle rasping knock echoed on her door as someone came in to join her. Her eyes fluttering to the corner of her mirror, she saw her sister's concerned face entering. Avanna felt her fingers run cold when she saw the gorgeous dress that Emelie was wearing. Her older sister was eighteen this year, meaning that her name was still in the bowl. She was still at risk.

"Have you taken them yet?" Emelie asked, her voice tense.

"No," Avanna answered.

"Well you should," Emelie replied, biting on her lower lip. Avanna felt the guilt well up inside of her as she saw the stress lines define themselves on Emelie's face. She knew her depression was causing her family too much stress. Emelie especially. While her parents still lived in their jewelry shop so that they could keep the store up in running in hopes that one day either Emelie or Merik might inherit it, Emelie had moved into Victory Village to care for Avanna. Occasionally, she would disappear for a day or two to go into the city and buy supplies, give away money, or even to hang out with her friends, but most of the time Emelie was at home trying to ease Avanna's burden. Naturally, her sister's troubles only made the guilt worse, but Avanna would never tell her that. She was selfish in that way.

"I don't want to be useless in the Capitol," Avanna muttered back, staring at the pill bottle still.

For once, Emelie seemed to perk up a bit, as a flash of a smile snuck onto her face. "Oh, well if you're going to be working hard, then maybe you don't have to. Do you think I should call Doctor Remus to ask?" Emelie inquired hopefully.

Avanna's nose wrinkled at the mention of the Capitol doctor. She didn't like him much. All he ever wanted to do was talk about her time in the arena then prescribe her more pills. And she knew that it was more than her depression that made her hate the psychiatrist. Even Lea and Woof had voiced some resentment towards the man. Apparently, he'd had some conversations with them too in the past, on Head Peacekeeper Marcus's request.

"I heard they're sending someone over to help you with your first year of mentoring. I was talking with Cecelia and she said that usually they'd only have two of them go to the Capitol for mentoring, but they're making an exception this year," Emelie rambled, trying to spark some kind of reaction in Avanna. As much as they both were dreading the reaping later that day, Avanna knew that Emelie saw a bit of a silver lining to her visit to the Capitol. It meant for the first time, Avanna had some sort of emotional investment in the future. Doctor Remus said that was the first step towards healing. Apparently, depression was essentially the inability to "see all the possibilities tomorrow could bring." If she started looking forward to things, started caring about tonight, tomorrow, next week, and next year, she'd be on her way to recovery.

Lea had told her otherwise though. According to Paylor, her worry about mentoring wasn't recovery at all. "It's like how abused dogs flinch when you raise your hand above their head. It's not that it's reaction is some deep sign that they're about to become less neurotic. They just don't want to be hit again," Lea had said. Avanna thought this description was much more accurate. She didn't feel hopeful at all about the coming month, she just didn't want another bloody hand print staining her heart.

"Maybe it will be nice if two if them are there," Avanna deadpanned, for Emelie's benefit.

Downstairs, the sound of a door squeaking shut echoed. "Avanna?" Lea's abrasive voice called. "Hey we've got to go."

Avanna tucked the pill bottle into the pocket od her dress. Wrapping her sister in a tight squeeze, she bit her lip. "Good luck later," she whispered nervously.

"I'll be fine," Emelie smiled. "You can worry in five year when Merik's name go into the bowl." Avanna felt her face flush white.

"Avanna!" Lea called again.

"I need to go," Avanna muttered as she started walking towards the door. Today would be the first time in two weeks that she had left her house, and just the thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach. The uncertainty of everything was killing her. The worst part was not knowing when the fist was going to come down. After all, she knew that even if District Eight miraculously had another Victor this year, they probably wouldn't the next year, or the year after that. At some point she was going to fail. All she could do was hope that it wouldn't be this time. She hadn't even met her tribute yet, and she was already grieving for them. She could only imagine how much worse it would be when the deed was actually done. Fingering the pills in her pocket, she bit her lip. If worst came to worst, her momentary escape was coming with her.

Odds were that by the end of the month, she'd be sleep walking in her a state of pill-induced numbness

* * *

**How Far We've Come by Matchbox Twenty**

* * *

**A/N Yeah, I know I said Saturday, but I got impatient because I finished this chapter and found that all I was doing was waiting around. I do feel bad about not starting the week submission period on a week-end when I promised to though. So I'm going to maintain that the submission deadline is Saturday November 2nd.**

**Any who, I'm getting ahead of myself. To any new comers, my name is Tales, I write SYOTs. In the past year, I've completed two stories, Fading to Darkness, and Finding the Light (Avanna from above was the victor of FtL). Its not required that you read either of the previous two stories to read this one. The tribute form is on my profile, if you want to submit as well as a list of rules for submitting. I will only accept forms via PM. Sorry if the rules are bit extensive, I want to make sure that I can create the best story I can, and the first step in that process is receiving good characters. **

**If you're unfamiliar with my submission process, here's how it goes. I just posted the first chapter of the new story, and so now I am giving everyone until Nov. 2nd to get the forms in. I do not accept reservations, but know that I am not going to accept or reject any characters until the 2nd. So you can submit to any district you want within my time parameters without worry of slots filling up. PM me with any questions (I swear I'm friendly) I have a more in depth description of the process on my profile. **

**I got 30 submissions to my first story, and am expecting at least that many to this one (maybe a few more or a few less) so there probably will be some rejections (although there were only 6 last time. If you think about it, the odds are in fact in your favor). But know that before sending someone in. Anyway, good luck. I cant wait to see what you've all come up with. **


	2. Letters From the Sky (Part 1)

**Letters from the Sky (Part 1)**

"One of these days the sky's gonna break, and everything will escape, and I'll know."

* * *

**Brodus Battles, 18, District 2**

* * *

Brodus watched the pick axe rise in the air with his jaw set. His eyes followed the tool's rhythmic rise and fall bitterly, hating every chink it created in the stone beneath their feet. Burke, the man wielding the pick-axe, had a thin layer of sweat collected on his brow. The mangled white shirt he wore was stained with foul-smelling sweat, which would probably fester there until the Capitol complained of the stench that the wafted in from District Two.

Catching Brodus's stares, Burke heaved the pick axe down forcefully, sticking it in the dirt. "You waiting for them to bring the whip over?" he asked between haggard breaths.

"No," Brodus answered as his own calloused hands ran over the handle of his own pick-axe. "Thinking of the Games, that's all."

"That's how you're going to die, you know: thinking of the Games," Burke gave a gritty laugh, picking his tool up again.

"It's my last year. Next week is my last chance," Brodus muttered, as he moved to join his partner.

"No, it's your last not-chance. Can't forget 'bout these," Burke corrected, raising his hands in the air and giving them a shake. The manacles that were locked around his wrists clanked together as they swayed from the movement. Brodus didn't respond, instead he brought up his axe and hammered it into the earth, feeling his labor hardened muscles strain.

"I hear they've got Newt Strong volunteering. I've fought with him before, he's not that great. They've only picked him because he's Jason Strong's grandson, and Price Royal's kid did so well last year," Brodus said, ignoring Burke's comment completely. "I could do better."

"M'kay, well first off, you haven't seen or fought with this Newt kid in two years. He can't be that bad if they selected him as volunteer. And second off, if all this Games crap was so important, you shouldn't have shot a peacekeeper mate. I mean, I get it. The whole lot of them deserve to be shot. That's why I'm here too right? But you've got to prioritize things in life. Next time around, win the Hunger Games first, _then_ you can go shoot misguided law enforcement officers," Burke grinned, showing off a huge dark gap where one of his front teeth should have been.

Brodus glared at Burke, feeling a depressed and empty anger boil in his gut. Burke was a good guy, in his own odd way, but he didn't get it. He didn't know what it was like to have everything and then to be reduced to this. After the reaping next week, it would be official. He'd be stuck in prison for the rest of his life, forced to toil away chipping at rock in the stone quarries for no pay until his muscles gave in and he died. Not that he regretted his crime per se. No, that peacekeeper deserved the bullet Brodus had placed in between his eyes. He just wished that the circumstances had been different, that maybe his punishment had been less harsh, that his life wasn't going to be over before it even began.

The sound of clanking chains brought him back to the present, and he glanced up to see Porter, one of the older men in Brodus's ward, approaching. "Hey kid," Porter greeted as he swung his own pick axe into the ground.

"Sup," Brodus grunted in return, as he moved away from Burke. Burke would understand of course. Porter had a look in his eye that demanded privacy. And when Porter wanted something from the other prisoners, he got it unconditionally.

"Remember last month, you asked me about that favor, the one that involved one of my boys on the outside," Porter said, dropping his voice. Brodus's eyes flashed upwards, a thin glimmer of hope sparking in his stomach.

"Yeah, I remember. Why? You get what I needed?" he asked. Porter winked at him, a clever smirk growing on his face. Brodus stopped working, and stared at the man in elated disbelief.

"I can get you out of the shackles kid. You've just got to beat Strong's boy onto the stage. Think that's reasonable?" Porter inquired.

"Perfectly," Brodus said, his expression dangerous. "He won't know what hit him until it's already too late."

* * *

**Micah Hawk, 18, District 10**

* * *

Hawk lay low in the bushes as he watched the bend carefully. The hard angular end of his crossbow dug into his shoulder, as took a deep breath. His left eye was closed, as he calmed himself. Glancing at the pocket watch he kept in his breast pocket, he nodded. Any second now, and it was due. In the distance, he heard the sound of jingling cans bumping against each other, followed by the startled cry of an animal. Hawk's muscles tensed as he started counting seconds in his head.

_One. Two. Three. Four..._

The beast rounded the corner, it's grizzled brown fur glistening with dampness. Hawk waited another moment as the huge black bear's foot caught on the wire. His heart beat loudly in his ears as the net dropped from above, landing on the animal's shoulders and getting tangled in its torso. The weights attached to the edges of the netting were heavy. That much was clear as the bear began to tip over, falling to the ground. Hawk lined up his shot, looking to shoot it in the eye or neck. The bear writhed on the ground, as it struggled to release itself from the trap. It turned, exposing it's stomach in the air. This was Hawk's shot.

Just before he pulled the trigger, one of the weights came loose, and with it, the net trap collapsed on itself. The bear managed to free one of its legs, and immediately, it was on it's feet, running from the spot. Hawk pulled the trigger on his crossbow with a panicked urgency. His shot was off though. The arrow lodged itself in the bear's hind leg, and it gave a mighty roar as blood began to stain its fur.

Hawk cursed under his breath as he leaped to his feet and began to load another arrow. If he wanted his pay, he needed to take down that beast.

"Heads," a shout echoed through the trees. A second arrow manifested from the trees, hitting the bear between the eyes. Hawk jogged over to the bear, a deep scowl on his face. Ahead, another boy appeared from the shrubbery, his bright orange vest sticking out like a sore thumb against the earthy surroundings.

"Crappy knot job you did there. The weight looked like it wasn't even attached to the trap," Hawk said bluntly as he eyed the fallen bear.

"My bad. It must be the new supplies that the Capitol sent over. I'm not used to them yet," Sawyer raised his hands defensively. "Arguably, you could have been a better shot though. It takes talent to screw up our pay check that bad."

Hawk's eyes flashed up at his friend, an annoyed glare immediately arising from within. If he didn't know that Sawyer was joking, he might have punched him. Sawyer rolled his eyes as he caught his partner's look, an easy-going smile lighting up his face. "How much you think they'll take off our pay check for the arrow in the leg?"

"Too much," Hawk responded sullenly. He glanced South, the direction of the collection center. He had been a professional hunter for six years now, and it wasn't getting any easier. Sure, he knew all of the little tricks, all of the techniques, but the Capitol had high expectations for their game. Not only did they want the fattest beasts, the slickest fur, the rarest animals, but they wanted them spotless. If a hunter wanted to make the most possible profit for their catch, they'd have to figure a way to poison it's food without making its meat taste funny- a task that was virtually impossible.

"Well, at least we'll get something right? Reaping's next week, we'll be able to get something special on the table," Sawyer shrugged. "Now come on, we've got to haul this thing back to base."

* * *

**Ula Taylor, 17, District 4**

* * *

"Come on Ula, twenty more in twenty seconds, get there in twenty seconds and you break your record," Ethan's voice bellowed through the room.

His voice was lost on her though. Ula's muscles pumped, as her body cut nimbly through the water. The gentle hum of water coursing passed her ears surrounding her. Her legs were kicking like a hovercraft propellers behind her, and she felt like she was practically flying. She hit the wall with plenty of time to spare, a wide grin stretching across her face. Propping herself up on the side of the pool, she peeled the swim cap from her head, and dropped her goggles at Ethan's feet.

"I get it?" she breathed heavily, looking up at him excitedly. Ethan raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the stopwatch, playing up the drama. She could tell though by the way he suppressed a smirk that she had. "I did," she grinned as she pushed herself out of the water.

Ethan handed her a towel, giving her a gentle nudge. "Don't get too cocky. We wouldn't want all that ego clogging up the house," he joked with a gentle grin. He lowered himself beside her, putting his feet into the water.

"Who said I had an ego?" Ula raised an eyebrow threateningly. Ethan didn't respond for a moment as the two held a challenging glare. Then, all in one moment, the tension melted, giving way to laughter.

"Swimming doesn't even really matter anyways," Ethan pointed out. "What with the Games coming up."

He stared idly at the huge Victory banner that hung on the other side of the room. The pool belonged to the Training Academy; although, it was used more for recreation than for actual training. Nonetheless, it was impossible to forget the Academy's presence in the room. The faces of District Four's nine Victors were plastered everywhere, accompanied, of course, by that of Seymour Yew, and his father- the founders of the Academy and the reason that Four was now a career District. The specific banner that Ethan was staring at had each Victor embroidered on it, with space for at least another ten on the end. It was the empty space that had a much more profound effect on the trainees that buzzed around below. It represented their future.

"You miss it?" Ula asked curiously.

Ethan shook his head. "No, I'm over it. I mean, how can I complain when Finnick went on to win? Obviously Yew made a good choice," he shrugged.

Ula nodded. Ethan, her brother would be turning twenty soon. He had trained in the Academy just like her for years. Then, just when his time to volunteer had arrived, Seymour pulled a fast one on the entire District, naming Finnick Odair as the male volunteer instead of Ethan. The outrage died down the minute everyone saw how ridiculously well Odair fared in the arena, but behind closed doors, Ethan had been devastated.

"Hey, another couple months and you'll be up there right? No more worrying about all that crap mom and dad are giving me about losing my spot," Ethan smiled. "And I'll get all the benefits of being a Victor, without having to deal with all the hard arena stuff in the middle."

Ula nodded, her chest feeling suddenly empty. It was her year this time around, and she knew that soon, too soon, she'd be standing in front of the District, accepting her place as volunteer. Somehow though, she didn't seem as excited as maybe she should be. Shaking her head, she jumped back into the water. It would get better once she was in the Capitol. This was all just the pre-game nerves.

"I'm going again Ethan," she called over her shoulder, focusing her mind on the time she had just achieved. She take another few laps and beat that time for the third time that week.

And then later, later she would think about the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Stoker Tachan, 14, District 5**

* * *

A hunched boy walked down the alleyway, his hood pulled high and his shoulders shivering slightly. Rain fell in weighted buckets from the sky onto the industrial streets below, soaking the boy, and setting him on edge. He moved briskly, with a nervous stutter to his step. He ignored the huddled figures of the devastatingly impoverished as he passed them. His eyes set on the building ahead.

He burst through the doors, his breath expelling from his body in one relieved burst of relief. Immediately, he shrugged his coat off his shoulders and threw it into the pile of wet cloths that had accumulated in the corner, presumably from his siblings.

"Mom, Dad? Termic? Vove Tillan?" Stoker called out, his eyes searching the top of the staircase. Jogging up the steps, he walked into the main room of their small home. At first, he thought he must be one of the first ones home. Then he spotted the snoring form on their disintegrating grey coach. A sly grin formed on the boys face as he ducked onto the ground, sneaking around the back of the coach. Shoving his muscular frame into the coach, he dumped his brother onto the floor.

The other boy cried out as he hit the ground. "I was working I swear," he shouted out sleepily as he bolted into the sleeping position. Stoker poked his head up, a grin forming on his face.

"Working on what Tillan?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just you," Tillan said, rubbing his side and pushing himself to his feet. Stoker raised an eyebrow at his younger brother, insisting on more detail. "Oh, well, Termic made me promise I'd clean up the house for mom while she was out getting stuff for dinner."

"I see you've been breaking your back for her," Stoker smirked.

Tillan scowled. "I was getting to it," he swore.

"Never said you weren't," Stoker raised his hands defensively. "You, know, I just saw the pile of wet cloths in the hall downstairs and all."

"Message received," Tillan insisted, as he pushed the coach back into it's normal position.

"You seen Vove then?" Stoker asked as he made his way over to the kitchen.

"Nah, he probably got lost on the way home from work. Drowned in a pile of wet fliers or something," Tillan said.

"He would."

"So, how was work?" Tillan asked, though he didn't sound all that interested. Nobody really cared much about what happened in the thermal power plants, as long as nobody died. The work was only interesting to those who were familiar with the job. Nevertheless, it just seemed like habit for his brother to ask him how work was. Probably because Tillan was the only one who didn't have a job yet in their family, being only ten, so he wasn't completely aware how dull jobs were. Not that Stoker hated his job. To the contrary, he thought that his job was rather interesting. It was other people's jobs that were boring. He couldn't imagine how Tillan could sit there and listen to him ramble about his day. He almost fell asleep when Vove or Termic went on about theirs.

"Same old same old. One of the valves broke on the suspended catwalks, so I had to climb up and fix it," Stoker said.

"How high?"

"Really high."

"Squirrel."

Stoker scowled. Tillan just wanted an excuse to tease him. Not that Stoker could blame him. He took basically every opportunity to make fun of Tillan after all. Looking in the refrigerator, his eyes landed on a small round orange that was hiding in the back corner. His eyes widened at the sight of the fruit. "Did Termic buy that?" he asked, excitedly.

Tillan appeared behind him, his head peering over Stoker's shoulder. "Where did that come from?" he asked, just as shocked.

Stoker shook his head, exchanging a glance with Tillan. "We blame it on Vove," Stoker said.

"And tell nobody," Tillan agreed. With a grin, Stoker grabbed the fruit. It was turning out to be a good day after all.

* * *

**Carmine Beckett, 13, District 7**

* * *

Carmine stared at the blank paper in front of her as she chewed on her pencil. The classroom was empty, except for the teacher and herself, and the atmosphere reflected this. The only sound in the room was the quiet ticking of the clock, which seemed to echo off the walls obnoxiously. The words on the page seemed to mix together as Carmine stared at them, she had been working for so long. It was important though that she did well on this test. One day, if she could do well enough in school, she might be able to earn a decent living for herself. Or at least that's what she told herself.

Honestly, her drive might just stem from a deeply ingrained desire to prove to her father that she was doing excelling in her own right. Last night, at during their meager, almost nonexistent, dinner, he had glanced at her gruffly and asked how school was. She had told him that she was doing just fine, and that he didn't need to worry about her. Now though, she felt like she needed to give him proof.

This test would be proof.

"Are you done yet Ms. Beckett?" the teacher asked from the front of the room.

"Just another minute," Carmine responded, as her brow creased even further. They were learning about the different breeds of trees currently, a topic that Carmine wasn't all that interested in. She only had one question left, but it was a hard one. A picture of a maple leaf was displayed prominently on the page, and she had to label it. The problem was that she wasn't sure whether it was a silver maple, red maple, or sugar maple. They all looked similar.

The clock continued to tick away, and Carmine could feel her palms begin to sweat.

"Ms. Beckett, do you need help? I gave the other students a few hints on questions one, five, and fifteen, if you need one," the teacher pestered her again.

Carmine shook her head. "No thank you, I can do this by myself," she responded, running a thoughtful hand through her hair. She stared at the leaf, examining the slightly toothed edges and the thickness of its star-shaped prongs. Finally, with a decisive scribble, she decided that it was most definitely a red maple. Standing up proudly, she handed the teacher her paper, a small smile glowing on her face.

"You figure out the answer?" her teacher asked.

"I think so, yes," Carmine nodded.

"Very nice," the woman responded as she flipped through Carmine's packet. Carmine lingered, watching her teacher's expression carefully as she looked through her answers. When she looked up, the woman seemed surprised to find that Carmine was still there. "Do you need anything else?"

"What? No," Carmine said immediately, blushing.

"Well then go play with your friends dear," she shooed.

Carmine walked out of the room, feeling a slightly shy timidness fall over her. She didn't have many friends to play with- yet another reason why she lingered so long working on that test. Her father said that dependency was a sign of weakness. If you were going to succeed in anything in life, you had to succeed on your own. It was no different with her peers. She intended on making something of herself, and so, if that meant moving through life on her own. That's what she would do.

Because Carmine knew, she had what it took to be great. One day, she would make her father proud.

* * *

**Ayla Forester, 15, District 12**

* * *

Ayla leaned against the wooden house post as she watched people trudge by in the street of the town. They were only a few blocks away from the Justice Building and the town square, but still, District Twelve seemed rather dead. Every now and then, someone would pass, and Ayla would give them a friendly wave- District Twelve was a relatively small place, it was easy to know every name and every face if you tried- but only occasionally would she get a response.

It was that time of the year, she could taste it in the air. Winter was coming to an end, which generally was supposed to a be a good thing. By far, winter was the hardest month. Somehow, it was always harder to be hungry when you were cold than hungry when you were warm, or so she had been told. At the same time though, Spring held another kind of connotation to it. It brought a little bit less suffering with it, but it also came with the looming sense that the Hunger Games were coming. And with every Spring day that they scratched off their calendars, there was one less day until the Capitol returned to kill two more of District Twelve's youth.

Ayla sighed, leaning her head against the post. She wasn't usually this morbid.

"Chloe are you ready to go yet?" she called behind her.

"Almost," Chloe responded. Ayla drummed her fingers against the door frame, letting the rhythmic sound serve as a reminder to her friend to hurry up. It was because of Chloe that her mind was lingering on the Hunger Games today. Her brother had died in the Games a few years ago, and she was always edgy this time of the year. Every now and then, she'd mutter a random Hunger Games fun fact that she had heard on the television, and Ayla would suddenly be acutely aware of how much Chloe thought about the Games.

"Done," Chloe called, stepping out of the house. She was wearing worn jeans and a grey frilly shirt that used to be white. It didn't look like much, but those cloths were a sign of wealth. Not that either Chloe or Ayla were particularly wealthy. They were simply not dying of starvation, as both of their parents lived in the merchant section of the district.

"Great, we're meeting everyone out by the seam," Ayla grinned, excitedly as she grabbed Chloe's hand and began to bounce east down the street.

"Who are we meeting again?" Chloe asked with an accommodating smile.

"Oh the usual, you know, Aras, Jay, Lilian, the usual," Ayla said happily.

"Cool," Chloe nodded, tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. Ayla looked over at her friend carefully, gauging her mood. Something was off, something more than the usual anti-social tendencies that Ayla occasionally teased her friend about.

They turned the corner, and then she saw it. Two peacekeepers were working lazily in the street, hanging a crisp white banner that looked out of place in District Twelve's depressed streets. Ayla's stomach twisted. The words "ARE YOU READY FOR THE GAMES?" were plastered in big red celebratory letters on the banner. A fire suddenly lit in Ayla's stomach. This wasn't fair, not to Chloe and all those who were still suffering from the past Games.

"Ayla don't," Chloe hissed grabbing onto her arm. "Its not worth it. They're not going to get rid of the poster."

Ayla glanced over her shoulder at Chloe, feeling sufficiently helpless. "You want to just go back to your house? We can just hang out for a while?" she asked. "I'm sure the others will understand."

"Alright, let's do that," Chloe nodded. Ayla and her turned around, leaving the poster behind. Its words still burned in the back of each of their minds regardless.

Were they ready for the Games?

The answer was no. Whether they were reaped or whether it was one of their peers. No one would ever be ready.

* * *

**Letters from the Sky by Civil Twilight**

* * *

**A/N So it begins. If you haven't noticed, there weren't any reapings this chapter. There is a reason behind that. I knew I wouldn't last for another 12 reaping chapters, but at the same time, reaping chapters are important. It's when a) you are first introduced to the characters and b) see the actual reapings. I knew I couldn't skip them because that throws off the order of things, but I didn't want to cut out character introductions because I give you a lot of important background here. So I'm doing 4 character intro chapters, each with one with 6 tributes (like this one) followed by a reaping chapter told from mentors prospective. Get it? Got it. Good.**

**Blog's up the address is foreverboundhg . blogspot. com (remove the spaces). You can also just go to my profile if your having issues with the web address, there's a link there. You can go check out the characters not featured here for some insight other than their names. I'd love to hear some first impressions on what you think of them.**

**Also jessicallons-y, another great author on this site (she created Foster and Kegan in FtD, Rocio in FtL, and Calder in this story who you haven't met yet) just started a new SYOT and she is in need of characters. She runs her submissions like I do, and her deadline is Friday. She has already finished one story so if you want to check out her writing you can. So yeah, if you have the time, go submit a character, I highly recommend her stories.**

**Okay I think I covered everything. **

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


	3. Letters From the Sky (Part 2)

**Letters from the Sky (Part 2)**

"One of these days the mountains are gonna fall into the sea, and they'll know."

* * *

**Siobhan Jay, 17, District 9**

* * *

Over the loud-speaker, a low blaring bell rang. As if it was the first noise she had heard all day, Siobhan jumped, looking around confused for a moment before raising to her feet. Stretching nervously, she plodded over to the door, ignoring the stream of her peers around her as they poured out of the classroom and into the outdoor courtyard. Siobhan blinked a few times, trying to bring herself back to wake herself up. She found herself wondering why she bothered with school too often these days- after all, she would probably just end up with a job in the grain fields whether she was educated or not.

"And maybe I'll be able to see your happy faces _awake_, tomorrow," the teacher yelled at her student's backs as they left.

"And maybe District Nine will nuke the Capitol while we're at it," Siobhan muttered under her breath, Beside her, a light giggle reached her ears. Siobhan glanced to her side, finding that her friend Ella had fallen into step with her.

"You should watch out, one day she's going to hear you," Ella smiled.

"Well it's a good thing we graduate next year because I'm not going to start censoring myself for the sake of precious Mrs. Anderson's feelings," Siobhan said with an indifferent shrug. Ella rolled her eyes.

"Are you meeting Peri, Noah, and I later?" Ella asked as they started walking along the dirt path that would eventually lead to the specific row of slums that they called home. "We're going over to Feek Hummer's place to hang out."

Siobhan shook her head. "No I've got plans," she said.

"You do? Would it happen to be with a certain tall handsome peacekeeper? Because if it is, then I want to hear about it tomorrow," Ella said with a sly smile.

"Keep your voice down would you. I don't want the whole world to hear it," Siobhan hissed, looking over her shoulder to make sure that nobody had overheard. A deep scarlet blush had seeped into her cheeks, and with it came a nervous lump in her stomach. Honestly, she had started to wonder if it was still girly butterflies that she felt when she thought of him or whether it was something else, something much worse.

"Nobody's around, relax. I don't get why you're so secretive about it. It's not like you've ever cared that much about what people think before," Ella said.

"This is different," Siobhan argued. Her gut twisted as she thought of how her other friends and parents might react if they found out about Kristoff. Peacekeepers were allowed to date, of course, but that didn't make it okay for them to be with somebody from the Districts. People resented law enforcement, and if they ever found out that she was mingling with one of them, she'd be ostracized as an unspoken traitor. Ella was the only one who knew, other than one or two of Kristoff's friends.

"If you say so..." Ella shrugged.

The two were alone now as they walked along side one of Nine's eternal wheat fields. The other kids had all scattered already, each splitting towards their own homes. Up ahead, a slim figure was leaning against one of the wooden bulletin boards on the side of the street. Siobhan felt her heart flip excitedly inside of her chest, whilst the knot in her stomach tightened.

"Looks like he's here to pick me up early," she smirked.

Up ahead, she could see Kristoff's frame turn, and he waved to her, a wide grin stretching across his face as he brushed some of his blonde hair back from his eyes. Jogging over to them, he nodded to Ella before wrapping an arm around Siobhan's shoulder. She had to force herself not to wince.

"Mind if I steal the lady?" Kristoff asked Ella. Siobhan's friend looked like she was about to squeal in excitement or something. Thankfully she didn't though.

"Nope, you two have fun later," Ella replied.

Siobhan stopped and said good-bye to her friend as Ella kept walking off towards her house. She felt Kristoff press his lips against her temple. "Hey babe, I'm real sorry about last night, okay? Let's just try and forget about it. I've got something special planned for later, something that will make up for it," he whispered quietly.

"Yeah sure," she mumbled back.

Tonight's date was going to be fun, she told herself. Yesterday's problems were a one time thing. It wasn't going to happen again. He promised her.

* * *

**Paisley Erwin, 15, District 8**

* * *

Paisley stood on her tippy-toes, trying to see the front of the line. Over the heads of countless District citizens, she could just barely spot the creamy white counters of the inside of the Justice Building Tesserae Distribution counter. Paisley's stomach growled as the smell of fresh food wafted around the room. Rocking back down, so that she was flat-footed, she tugged on her sister's arm.

"It looks like it came straight from Districts Nine and Eleven," she said with a wide grin while she again tried to peer over the shoulders of everyone in front of her. Usually the monthly food ration was at least a little bit stale. It appeared that this month, they had made an effort to get it to them before it spoiled.

"They're celebrating the fact that we'll be starving again next month. Don't get too excited," Lorena scolded bitterly. Paisley shot her sister a look as she bobbed impatiently, stepping forwards when as the line moved up.

"Maybe we'll have another victor this year. You don't know what's going to happen," Paisley countered. Lorena just snorted, not meriting the younger girl a response as her optimism was simply that absurd. Paisley let the silence sit for a minute as they inched closer and closer to the counter. She could see all eight Peacekeepers that were working. Four of them were rotating from the counter to the back room where presumably all the food packages were, while the other four manned the check-list and greeted the District folk. The food was being passed out in large brown burlap sacks. The ones today were twice the size of what they usually were.

After what seemed like a millennium, it was their turn to collect their portion of food.

"Name?" a dark-haired peacekeeper said as he looked at them expectantly. He looked tired, Paisley noted. The Capitol must be working them into the ground recently. She felt kind of bad for him.

"Erwin," Lenora said, crossing her arms. Paisley rocked back and forth on her feet as the peacekeeper signaled to one of his coworkers for another bag of food. Paisley curiously watched them scrambling around behind the counter, aware that her sister was scowling at all of them. She pictured another world in another time, where Lenora wasn't so cynical. She could just picture it. Maybe they'd go up to the counter, and her sister might actually smile her greeting, and maybe the peacekeeper wouldn't look so down-trodden because for once, someone wasn't giving him attitude. Maybe there wouldn't be such an obvious rift between the two sisters because they'd be on the same page.

Paisley smiled, she liked this alternate reality much better.

"Three members in the household, here's your bag," the peacekeeper said as someone appeared with their rations. Lenora picked up the bag, and began walking. Quickly Paisley made to follow her.

"Do you need help with that," she hovered, a worried look on passing over her face. Usually Lenora insisted on carrying the whole bag by herself. With the extra weight in it today though, she was struggling.

"Nope, I'm fine," Lenora said, her words biting. "Go hang out with your friends or something. I don't need you here."

Paisley nodded, feeling slightly stricken. "Okay, I mean, if you say so," she muttered dejectedly. And with that, she ran off, reminding herself that good times were surely around the corner. Lenora would come around... Eventually

* * *

**Barric Yule, 15, District 11**

* * *

Barric watched from the sidelines as the lopsided leather ball was dropped in between the two boys. Somewhere off to the side, someone gave a loud whistle, setting the game off. The two boys darted forwards, both kicking the battered ball hard with their feet. The bigger one was clearly more skilled, as he got underneath the ball, knocking it into the air. With his knee, he pushed it to the left, nimbly juking around to chase after it.

"Come on Till, don't let him beat you like that," Barric called from the sideline. His eyes were trained carefully on the action, watching as the small red-haired kid was again beat. The blonde slammed his foot into the ball, rocketing it in between two rocks set up a few feet away. "Get him next round," Barric called out.

The boys on the field straightened, the larger boy looking at the spectators with a wide grin. That was his second score in this match up- signaling the mid-point break.

Barric sighed as the two boys jogged over to the side to take a drink from their withered canteen. "I thought you said Till was better," a thin girl said beside him.

"He is," Barric said. "He's the kid who got me in the head last week."

"Well Spud looks better right now," the girl, Ceres declared.

"He's not," came Barric's matter-o-fact response. On Barric's other side, Garner, another one of Barric's friends, sent the two a weary look.

"You said they play to four?" Garner asked timidly, hoping to change the subject as he hugged his knees to his chest.

"Yeah, they play to four, but you have to win by two. That's how I got hurt last week. Till and I got into it, and we were bouncing back and forth between game point and tie point, and then Till accidentally nailed me in the head with the ball," Barric explained.

Usually, his two best friends didn't accompany him to the sporting yard; however, after he got injured, he had decided to drag them to this match. He wanted to watch, but refused to do so alone. Naturally, after a five minute conversation with Garner, and a much longer one with Ceres, Barric had persuaded them.

"This is boring," Ceres said, as the two players lined up to jump the ball again.

"You just don't understand what's going on or something," Barric said as he waved her off. Around them, the other onlookers had gone silent. Once a player was down 3-0, almost all hope was lost. This round was crucial if Till wanted to get back into the game.

"Till looks like he's-" Garner began to comment.

"Shh, you're going to mess him up," Barric shushed his friend. On the field, Till and Spud had started, and they were caught up in a stand off, each with one foot clamped onto one side of the ball. This was a test of strength now. Spud won out, managing to swing his hip into the draw, sending Till off balance and into the mud. Barric groaned as Spud scored the goal easily. "Come on Till," he called out.

"I think you just want Till to win because-" Ceres started.

"It's just tradition. You're supposed to root for your last opponent. It's good sportsmanship," Barric cut in, almost defensively.

"You interrupted me. I was going to say because you want to brag that you're better than the yard champ- cause you're match got cut short for your concussion. But you know, if you say it's because you're trying to be a good sport..." Ceres said. Barric scowled.

"Think whatever you want," he said, heavily implying that she was wrong. His eyes returned to the match just in time, to see Spud score the winning shot. He let out a loud groan. "I could've gotten him," he muttered to himself. Ceres let out a loud laugh beside him.

Today was just going great.

* * *

**Aerial Hobbs, 15, District 3**

* * *

The crowd around her was bustling. People from every strain of genius crowded the booths, moving through the street with eyes alight. Aeriel was there too, hanging out with some kids from school, but of course, she wasn't part of the whole mess. No she'd never be smart enough to be part of any of the inventions that were on display. She was just an interested observer, waiting with her friends to see what cool things the scientists might set off next. The annual Tech Festival was always exciting.

"I think I saw someone hanging upside down by their shoes," Perl said, rolling her eyes. "So useless."

"Could be worse, I saw someone trying to eat a robot earlier. Said that it was made out of some special metal that could dissolve in the body. I don't think it was working," Lux shrugged.

"I don't know, I think it all looks _just _fascinating," Aerial said sarcastically. Her friends laughed, and she smiled, giggling with them. See, for every amazing earth-shattering mind-bending invention they made, there were at least two hundred duds. And really, that's what everyone was interested in seeing. Because as fun as it was watching the scientist show off personal hover boards and synthetic biological materials, it was twice as entertaining to make fun of the amateurs.

"Look over there," Beta said, lifting her finger and pointing towards one of the booths. A large crowd had formed around a wiry man with unruly facial hair. In his hands, he was holding a gigantic light bulb. Calling someone forth from his audience, he had them touch the bottom metallic part of the bulb. It turned on. All around, people started to clap.

"It'd be better if it was smaller. I know my mom isn't putting that in her house," Perl said critically. Aerial laughed, though honestly, she thought Perl was being ridiculous. That was the best invention they'd seen all day. She was only making fun of the man because she wanted to laugh at someone. She really could be such a brat sometimes.

Of course, that didn't stop Aerial from laughing. A brat or not, Perl was well-liked, and Aerial needed her approval.

"Come on, let's go check out the Victor's booth," Aerial said.

Her friends nodded eagerly. Gage Crux, Beetee Xavior, Wiress Bulb, and Sparky Neutro always had their own stand; although, everyone knew that Beetee was behind the entire thing, even though he refused to take all of the credit. Gage and Sparky hated being in public, and Wiress was too dazed and confused to manage anything on her own. All this was beside the point though. Their booth was always the most popular because they gave out free food. That was what was really important here.

"Look, at what he's wearing," Perl said as they got closer. She was referring, of course, to the bright blue suit that Beetee was in. He looked like he walked straight out of a circus performance.

"Ah, the Capitol probably controls their wardrobe," Lux pointed out.

"I bet they all voted on what the four of them were going to wear. I think they broadcast the Tech Festival in the Capitol," Beta nodded.

"Whatever," Perl rolled her eyes.

Aerial laughed lightly, secretly very pleased that Lux and Beta put Perl in her place. "Come on guys, they've got fancy cookies this year," she said. And with that, the four of them were running down to the booth, all passive aggressive tension forgotten, though it would never disappear completely.

* * *

**Jeremite Garnet, 17, District 1**

* * *

Jeremite could feel his shirt sticking to his back as he walked lazily down the road. His muscles felt like noodles after the harsh work out he had just endured, but he felt good. Smoothing his dark golden hair back, he took a deep breath, appreciating the crisp night air. He was looking forwards to getting home to tell his family the good news. They had officially told him that he was the chosen volunteer for this year's Games. Not that it was a surprise. Everyone knew that it was his year, he had been working hard for this. Even though it was expected, the news felt good.

Beneath his feet, the smooth asphalt had turned into cobblestones. After another minute or so of walking, he saw his house appear from around the corner. Outside, a small red car was parked. His heart fluttered against the inside of his chest. Agatha was over. He could tell her the good news too.

Pushing the front door open, he smiled as he saw his younger brother, Spinel, waiting on the steps in the foyer. The kid worshipped Jeremite, and would often sit in wait for him to return from the Academy. He was the reason Jeremite had decided against boarding. He figured it'd be nice if he could spend as much quality time with Spinel as possible. Their father was strictly a business man, and so if Jeremite didn't guide Spinel, no one would.

"Hey guess whose going to be volunteering in the next Hunger Games?" Jeremite asked with a wide grin as Spinel jumped to his feet.

"They gave the spot to you?" Spinel asked, excited. Jeremite nodded. "That's so cool."

"Yeah, in a few months, looks like we'll be moving to Victory Village," Jeremite grinned, messing up his brother's hair.

Following Spinel into the kitchen, Jeremite dropped his training bag onto the floor. "Hey mom," he greeted, seeing the thin woman slaving over the stove. She nodded back in greeting, though she seemed very preoccupied with the dinner she was cooking.

Then he saw her, sitting on one of the stools at the island counter in the middle of the room. She had turned around at the sound of the door, and was smiling at him. Her big blue eyes seemed to glow under the dim kitchen lighting. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and she was still wearing athletic cloths from the training center. He smiled, feeling his heart stop, as it did every time he saw her.

"Hey gorgeous," he said, pressing his lips against her cheek.

Agatha pushed him away, playfully wrinkling her nose. "Hey you smell," she complained.

"Sorry," he blushed apologetically. "You hear the good news?"

"Yeah, I heard they picked out their volunteers this year," Agatha nodded raising an eyebrow. For a moment, he froze, the smile falling from his face. "Don't worry, they didn't pick me. At least not this year. I think they gave Biathyst Darlucaan the spot."

"Yeah? Well that's beside the point. They picked me. It's official and everything now," Jeremite said. She smiled, looking happy for him, though he knew she was thinking of Grav. It made his blood boil, knowing that she was still hurting. It was the flash of fear in her eyes that made him stop himself. Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his fists from his side. No, he wouldn't lose it now, not in front of Spinel and his mother. Not with Agatha in the room, if he could help it.

Guilt twisted in his stomach, painful and heavy. One day, he would fix himself, so that this wouldn't be so hard, so that he could stop contemplating ending things. But that day wasn't here yet. He had to win the Hunger Games first. It was his duty to Grav, his dream for himself. In District One, the Hunger Games were life.

* * *

**Keela Monroe, 17, District 6**

* * *

She hated her parents.

There was really no other way to describe it. The feeling of dormant fury that was churning in her stomach could only be described by that word: hate. Frankly, she didn't even care that it was a horrible thing to say. They had earned this. Keela looked from his face to hers as the family of five sat around the dinner table in silence. They didn't look tense or hostile, but then again, they weren't happy either. This was the first dinner they'd had as a family since last year's reaping, and they were being complacent, in the most unforgivable way. Ready to accept the fact that their relationship didn't work and never would, but going through the motions anyway.

She hated those kinds of people.

"So girls, how was your day," their father's rather cold voice echoed off the walls. Keela's mother pursed her lips, unhappy about the tone her husband had used, but unwilling to show it.

"Oh, it was fun. Scout and I went to the Shipping Company Park after school," Talia answered with a warm smile. Keela rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance. There was tension in the room, building like a boiling volcano between her parents. It would burst soon, or maybe it wouldn't. Her parents had gotten better at hiding their strife from their children, or so they thought. She'd rather they did explode though. At least then they could all be honest with each other.

"Sounds like fun," her mother said, returning Talia's warm smile. "Who'd you meet there, anyone I, er, we might know?"

"Oh, just some other kids from our class. I don't think you'd know any of them. Our classes got a lot bigger this year because of the school merger, so we're with almost completely new people," Scout shrugged.

Keela's eyes flickered between her sisters, the twins, idly wondering how they could just play along with this and pretend everything was alright.

"What about you Keela?" Talia asked. There was a nervous look in the younger girl's eyes. She knew that bringing Keela into the conversation was toying with a dormant beast. Things were either going to get a lot worse, or slightly better.

"It sucked. First I had to sit next to that annoying Hanover kid at school, and now I am being forced to have family dinner fun time, even though everyone knows all hate each other," Keela sneered.

Her mother dropped her fork and let out a slightly astonished gasp, looking genuinely hurt, while her father's eyes snapped towards her. "Keela Monroe-"the man began in a threatening voice.

"Thais right, my bad, nobody hates the twins. I'll be more specific next time," Keela corrected herself, interrupting her father mid-sentence. She watched as the man's anger mounted to the point that he couldn't even put his feelings into words. Keela stood, pushing in her chair as she icily looked at her family- if it could even be called that. "I think, I'm going to spend the night at Evon's house."

Walking out of the room, out of her house, she let a pent of sigh of frustration. Her mind replayed the expressions on her parent's and sister's faces. None of them had been surprised by her outburst, not really. It was more like they had been horrified that someone actually wanted to talk about their dirty laundry. Forcing herself to relax, Keela took a deep breath.

Well, at least she was being honest about their situation. They shouldn't begrudge her that.

But, of course, they would.

* * *

**Letters from the Sky by Civil Twilight**

* * *

**A/N**

**There's another six characters. We're half way done with intros now- you've met one person from every District. As far as a planning goes, I think I've solidified who everyone's going to be aligned with, but I haven't been able to get much past that (meaning that I still have no idea who the Victor is going to be). I swear, it wasn't this difficult picking the winner for my last two stories :P. **

**Any who, u****ntil next time,**

**-Tales**


	4. Letters From the Sky (Part 3)

**Letters from the Sky (Part 3)**

"One of these days, letters are gonna fall from the sky, telling us all to go free."

* * *

**Zync Olssen, 16, District 3**

* * *

Zync peered into the pitch black hallway, checking both directions before hopping in through the window. "I don't think anyone's here," he whispered back. "We're good."

"I don't know about this. We're going to get caught," Mecki's worried voice floated back to him. Zync poked his head back out the window, a sloppy grin on his face, as he looked at his best friend.

"Come on, be a rule breaker or whatever. It's not like we're breaking or stealing anything. It's just some fun," Zync said, raising an eyebrow. His smile widened as he eyed Mecki with her wire glasses and brown curly hair that was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wasn't doing a very good job of pulling off the 'bad girl' look, even though he had told her to dress like a thug so that she could get the entire criminal experience. Not that Zync was a criminal, because he definitely wasn't. He just liked having a little fun every now and then.

Beside her, Kelvin tapped his foot impatiently on the ground. "Come on, we've got to hurry up if we're going to make it out before the guards notice the disruption in the surveillance system," he prodded. Zync looked back at Mecki, his lip curling upwards.

With a flustered sigh, Mecki climbed through the window into the school building, and Kelvin quickly followed. The school looked different at night. The building wasn't lit anymore. Only a few random yellow flood lights dared to soften the shadows. For a minute, Zync couldn't even recognize where they were. All of the halls looked the same in the Warring School, and sometimes he could get lost in it's maze during the day time.

Mecki and Kelvin knew where they were, however, and the two of them quickly began leading the way, walking right down the hall at a brisk pace. Kelvin pulled a camera out of his pocket and began filming their route. It would be proof tomorrow when he and Zync bragged about their escapades to the rest of their rather large group of friends. Turning another corner, they came up on their destination- the library.

"M'kay Mecki, you got the lock combo?" Zync whispered as he tugged on door handle finding that the metal doors wouldn't budge.

"Zync, I don't feel right about this," Mecki protested once again, chewing on her lip. "Ms. Smyth made all of us promise that we'd never-"

"Aw come on Mecki, we're using it just how Ms. Smyth said we were supposed to. We're checking out a book, for educational purposes. She'd be proud you got me to come in that dusty room willingly." Mecki glared at him, knowing fully well that he was twisting her words. When she had told him earlier that day that he needed to finish his Biology homework, she didn't mean that he should do it this way. Nevertheless, she found that she was typing in the seven digit code on the lock pad, while Zync bobbed behind her excitedly. He strutted into the school library, his eyes scanning the room with mischievous pride.

"The aisle on BioMechanics is over this way," Mecki said, her voice smart. She led the way and the two boys followed.

To the side, Kelvin was narrating their adventure. "The library at night, dark room or psychotic prison?" he whispered dramatically into the camera mic.

Grabbing the first thick text from the shelf, Zync nodded, satisfied. "Ready to head out?" he said. The other two nodded.

"We better walk fast, before your mom finds you've snuck out again," Mecki nagged.

"Wouldn't want that to happen," Zync rolled his eyes sourly. Still he began to pick up the pace because despite his sarcasm, he knew the consequences of getting caught. If he had learned one thing over the years, it was that his mother's over-protective wrath was to be avoided at all costs.

* * *

**Sylvan Perry, 15, District Seven**

* * *

Sylvan twisted his knife, watching as it sliced through the wood slowly, making it curl into a little ringlet before falling floor next to his feet. A relatively sizable pile of shavings was accumulating now. He he had picked a rather hefty stick to start with today, so he was making a bigger mess than usual. With an expert hand, he pushed the dull side of the blade with his thumb, chipping off the last awkward edge of his figurine. The smooth white wood felt soft under his thumb, as he finished up. Glancing over his work, he smiled satisfied.

It was tiny hand-sized lumberjack, complete with an axe hanging off his side. Sylvan smiled, feeling rather proud of the job he had did. Heath Richardson was going to be really impressed with him.

At the door, he heard a quick double tap knock, followed quickly by the sound of the hinges swinging open. He knew it was Aries before he even saw her. He didn't exactly have that many friends barging into his room in the middle of his Saturdays. Or rather, he didn't have any other friends like Aries. Roanna would have at least waited for him to give her the go ahead before just walking through the door.

"Hey, Sylvan," Aries smiled sweetly as she floated over to him, plopping herself on the edge of his bed. He smiled warmly at her, holding up his figurine.

"Hey, what do you think?" he asked happily.

"Oh, that's nice," she said quickly. "I wanted to talk with you about next week though."

"What about next week?" Sylvan asked curiously, lowering the toy into his lap. "You said that you were hanging out with one of your friends right? Murphy, right? That's what you said when I mentioned going to gather some more good carving material the other day."

Aries bit her lip. "I forgot I told you that," she muttered to herself. "Well, those plans were cancelled, er, actually, they just got changed a little. I need you to come with me to this thing on Friday night. Everyone is bringing dates, and I need someone to go with. We'd just be going as friends of course."

"What happened to Murphy?"

"Murphy? Oh... um... he... I'm not going with anyone named Murphy," she said vaguely. He shrugged, brushing it off as a misunderstanding.

Sylvan frowned for a minute. He had made plans to go out into the woods some time to collect some sizable sticks with Roanna after Aries had turned him down. Aries was an old friend though. She lived right next door, and even though she was three years older than him, she'd been leading him around basically since he could walk. Recently, they hadn't been spending as much time together- Aries had been rather busy with the other kids in her year, which was understandable. This might be a good opportunity to spend some more time with her. Maybe Roanna would understand. He did spend most of his time with her anyways.

"I don't know, I had plans with someone else," Sylvan explained guiltily, biting his lower lip.

"Oh, well are you doing something important?" Aries said, her voice catching a disapproving tone.

"I mean, I could talk about it with Roanna, i guess. Wouldn't want you to be date-less right?" Sylvan decided.

Aries grinned, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, I knew I could count on you," she said in a sweet voice. Sylvan smiled back. He already knew what Roanna was going to say about this. She would tell him something about how Aries was just using him, blah, blah blah. But still, she wouldn't hold him responsible for succumbing to Aries's persuasion. Because she knew more so than anyone, Sylvan couldn't say no to save his life.

* * *

**Andromeda Albion, 18, District 2**

* * *

Andromeda's fingers played over the gorgeous sapphire pendant that sparkled on her collarbone. It was a startling ocean blue color, laid in a delicate silver backing, and it hung from a thin chain. It caught the light from the lamp, and reflected some of the color onto her chest and neck. She stared at it, almost mesmerized by the necklace's beauty. It made her happy knowing that such a marvelous piece of fine jewelry was hers now, even if she'd never get to wear it out in public for at least another month or two. Ms. Garrett might notice if she took it out too soon.

With a happy sigh, she slipped it off her neck and into the hidden jeweled box that she kept underneath her sink. The quaint little thing had come from one of her father's co-worker's wives, and was one of her most useful scores. She kept all the loot she collected over the years hidden with-in it's depths. Once, her mother even found it hidden in her room somewhere, but Andromeda had told her that it was a gift from her dad. Her mom hadn't asked any questions about it since.

"Andromeda, Tris and Honor are downstairs waiting for you," a deep voice carried through the doorway. She skipped over to the door, pulling it open to find her brother, Quintus, waiting behind it, a brunette eyebrow raised and thick arms crossed.

"Thanks for letting me know," Andromeda chirped as she went to go skip downstairs.

"Are you three going to train?" Quintus caught her before she made it to the end of the hallway.

"No, we're just heading into town, maybe hang out with some guys," she said, winking at her brother.

He wrinkled his nose. "Okay, too much information. You should really make sure you're training though. Just because they picked you doesn't mean you're definitely going to win. I'm counting on you," he said.

"Relax, I'll worry about that when I get there," Andromeda rolled her eyes. "I've been working way hard recently anyways. At this point, no amount of last minute cramming is going to matter. So I'm going to go out to have some fun."

Quintus opened his mouth to protest, but she was already walking away, rolling her eyes. A few years ago, her brother and she made a pact to become the next Cashmere and Glos- siblings winning back to back. He was only a year younger than her, and she knew that they could do it, if things worked out right. She hadn't expected however, for him to be such a drill sergeant. Sometimes, he was worse than the trainers at the academy. Recently she had begun to suspect that he didn't completely trust her abilities, after she almost lost her spot to Lupa Blacksmith. Still, even after she officially won the spot, he seemed worried about her. He was probably more concerned about himself than her at this point. After all, if she lost, they probably wouldn't pick him next year as the volunteer- it was bad luck to send a sibling in the year right after someone else in the family died.

Her thoughts drifted back up to her jewelry box, and her mouth twisted into a pleasant smile. He didn't know about her little hobby. Maybe if he did, he'd trust her more.

"Hi girls," Andromeda sang as she walked into her gourmet kitchen, walking over to her two friends who were waiting on her. Tris and Honor both smiled their hellos, and they exchanged the usually greetings. Andromeda's eyes caught on a new bracelet that Tris was wearing. It was gold with an adorable little District Two hammer dangling down from one of the links. "Oh, I love that, where'd you get it?" she asked, her eyes wide and admiring.

"From that new store in town," Tris said with a shy smile. "Maybe we can swing by it while we're out."

"Definitely," Andromeda nodded. But of course she didn't really plan on buying anything later. No, if she saw something nice, she'd come back at night when the store was closed, so that she could have whatever she wanted, all for free. It was more fun this way.

And of course, Andromeda did love pretty things.

* * *

**Ernest Berridge, 18, District 12**

* * *

Ernest moved up the step ladder carefully, holding a can of white paint in one hand and a paint brush between his teeth. Overhead, the chipping store sign was swinging in the wind, and with his free hand he steadied it. Setting the paint by his feet he carefully dipped the brush in the bucket and began repainting the words onto the family's shop sign: "General Store."

"Oh, hi Ernest," a frail voice said from below. He glanced down, seeing old Maggie Sap watching him. She was one of their few regulars, coming to buy things at least once every other day. She usually bought canned fruit. Ernest wasn't sure where she got the money from, but then again, it didn't matter much. If it wasn't for people like Maggie who seemed to procure money from nowhere, he would be starving, like the rest of the District.

"Hi ma'am," he grunted back to her before returning his attention to the sign. Maggie lingered for a second, as if expecting him to say something further, to strike up some kind of conversarion, but when it was clear that he didn't intend to chat with her, she moved into the store.

Ernest could hear his mother's voice carry from inside, greeting Maggie in a grateful and friendly tone. Ernest blocked out their chatter, focusing on the white block letters that he was forming meticulously. This would be the first time in seven years that they had money to spend on their store front, and while he secretly knew that no amount of paint was going to get anymore customers, he wanted the letters to look perfect. It was a pride thing.

After so many years of struggling and debt, Ernest missed that feeling-pride. He doubted it would last very long. With his family's luck, some jealous Seam kid was bound to vandalize the decaying store sign the second they saw that the Berridge family had made an effort to renovate it. They were ignorant, assuming that just because there was no risk associated with merchant jobs, that all merchants were rich and happy.

They were wrong of course. Their family was better off than those in the Seam, but they definitely were not rich, or happy. Well, now they might be happy. Ernest wasn't sure. He didn't feel happy. No, better was a more appropriate word. He felt better than he did before, during the depression, but not happy. He doubted he would ever truly be happy with his family the way it was.

Absently, Ernest wondered if anyone was ever happy in District Twelve. It didn't seem to matter whether you were rich, poor, or somewhere in between. Even Haymitch Abernathy, who arguably had everything he could ever want, was in a constant state od drunk depression. The only difference between him and the rest of the population was that he had enough money that he could wallow in his sorrow, drowning himself with booze.

With a sigh, Ernest looked at the sign, deciding that it looked good enough. Maybe he'd run next door later to get the Mr. Mellark to paint some design around the border, or maybe he wouldn't. He'd see if he had time.

Walking down the ladder, he picked up the paint can and walked back into the store. Maggie was still chatting with his mom up at the counter, taking her time checking out. He looked longingly at the stairwell hidden behind the counter. All he really wanted was to slip upstairs and be alone for a little while, maybe get some school work done, but he knew that walking over there would be asking to get drawn into a long drawn out conversation. He'd really rather not get sucked into that.

"Oh, Ernest, I need you got grab some of the mesh from the top shelf of aisle six," his mom called, looking up from underneath her reading glasses. He nodded obediently, setting the painting supplies down in the corner before going to fulfill her demand. While reaching for the mesh, it occurred to him that the demands and orders and favors were never really going to end. The shop was his present, past and future. One endless stream of monotonous work. Maybe it would have been better if he had been born in the Seam. He would've been more fit to be a miner, with his strong arms and anti-social tendencies. Life in the shop involved too much patience and too many false smiles. Shaking his head, he grabbed the mesh and walked back over to his mother.

His thoughts were depressing him, but then again, that was nothing new.

* * *

**Vixen Rhodes, 18, District 10**

* * *

The lunch room was relatively empty today. The subdued quiet that had arrived today was almost haunting. The local school had enough problems with attendance, but recently, those problems had been getting worse. At least half of Vixen's friends weren't coming anymore, maybe more. With a sigh, Vixen walked through the empty maze of tables over to the lunch line.

Picking up the bent tray, she scooted down the line, towards the area where Ms. Laxie was dispensing some kind of ground corn beef muck. " Ya 'till kickin' Vixen?" the woman smiled as she plopped the food onto Vixen's plate.

"Oh, I don't think I'm going anywhere," Vixen smiled back, moving over to the cash register now. She pulled a few dollars from her pocket, preparing to pay for her meal.

It was true, she didn't plan on stopping school any time soon. She didn't need to. She was in one of the few secure middle-class families left. The economic depression was effecting them, but only slightly. Unlike most of the other kids at school, the chance that she'd have to be pulled out to go work at one of the ranches or in one of the factories was basically non-existant. She was lucky like that.

After paying, Vixen turned around, looking for a seat. She spotted Mel and Darl after a moment, sitting at one of the circular tables in the middle of the room. Her mouth twisted into a disappointed frown. Lynn wasn't with them. She must have gotten a job.

"Hey," Vixen greeted sullenly as she joined the only two friends that remained. She missed the days when she could walk over and there'd be two tables worth of people waiting to greet her. It was a lot more fun back then.

"Hey," Mel sighed, pushing her corn beef muck around her plate. "You see that Lynn's gone?"

Vixen nodded.

"I saw her this morning," Darl said. "Her parents have her working at a milk factory, the one by Scout's place. I hear it's pretty nasty there."

"She could've gotten stuck at the Hemlock Ranch, like Tara. That would've been worse," Mel said unhappily. "I never thought I'd ever miss Ranger Capen so much."

Darl gave a half-hearted laugh. Ranger almost won the Hunger Games last year for District Ten. If she had just managed to make those last two kills, they wouldn't be having any of these problems- what with the food that they'd be getting as a result. Of course, there was the fact that Ranger had terrorized half the kids in the area at some point or another. Nobody had liked her that much. But she had been better in recent years, ever since she had started dating Hadyn Phob. Her dedication to him in the Games was absolutely heart breaking. Poor guy, her death had destroyed him.

"I'm just happy it's our last year," Vixen muttered, with a sigh. Mel and Darl nodded in agreement. Deciding that the conversation had taken too dark a turn, she changed the topic. "Maybe we could go by one of the Ranches later today and hang out with some people after school. It might cheer some of them up."

"Yeah, sure. I haven't seen Cash in a while," Mel mused with a flirty wink. Vixen grinned back.

"I bet he'll love that you're going to go visit him," she replied excitedly. Darl rolled his eyes, not interested in their girl talk. Of course it didn't faze either Vixen or Mel. Their excited buzz couldn't be hindered now. Vixen hadn't seen so many of her friends in ages. She knew that it'd be fun to get together with everyone again.

* * *

**Nathan Sucellus, 18, District Nine**

* * *

Nathan walked into the bustling bar scene with two tons of confidence resting high on his shoulders. His eyes scanned the crowd as the smell of cheep booze hit his nose. He found Yarrow's thick shouldered silhouette easily, sitting at the bar, with a ginormous cup in his hand. Nathan grinned, walking over to him, and clapping him on the back with his large palm.

"Yarrow, long time no see," he called through the noise of the bar.

Yarrow turned, his eyes lighting up with drunk happiness when he saw his friend. "Nathan! I didn't think I'd be seeing you for at least another month after what happened the other day," he said with a sloppy grin.

"Aw, it was just a small fight, and the peacekeepers didn't actually catch me. I don't even think they saw my face, so I figured I was safe," Nathan said.

"You got lucky kid," Yarrow nodded. "I got a two days in the stocks for that scene. But hey, Sap got what he was asking for. I gave it to him good right?"

Nathan nodded, slipping onto the stool next to Yarrow. He didn't have money on him for any of the homemade beer that Bush, the barkeeper, brewed, but he liked the atmosphere. Staying home meant several hours of boredom with his brother Logan. Hanging around here- at one of District Nine's four illegal bars- was much more exciting, and Nathan needed a little bit of excitement in his life.

"So how's the daily grind going," Yarrow grinned. "You get that job down by Sparrows End that you were gunning for?"

"Yeah, guaranteed employment for at least another month or so, chopping down some of the wheat they've got growing down there. Maybe next time I see you, I'll actually have a little spending money," Nathan said.

"Now all you've got to do is age out of the reaping in two weeks and you can be a real man," Yarrow said, laughing heartily at his joke. Nathan scowled, giving Yarrow an irritated look. He had dropped out of school three years ago for work, and he was eighteen. The fact that all the guys at the bar still treated him like he was some kid was ridiculous. Yarrow was only two years older than Nathan anyway, which really was no age gap at all. "Hey lighten up kid. We've all been there at some point right?"

"Sure," Nathan agreed, with a small smile. Yarrow was getting off easy because Nathan liked him a lot. If anyone else had said that to him, he probably would've punched them. He did like fighting. A good adrenaline rush was almost as good as any flavor beer that Bush could cook up.

Yarrow started talking about business again, mentioning some job he got at some local ranch, but Nathan was only half listening. His eyes had caught a burly guy's gaze on the other side of the room. He didn't like the way the man was looking at Yarrow and him.

"Hey, you know that guy?" he asked under his breath. Yarrow looked up lazily. When they made eye contact, the man moved forward, making a bee-line towards them.

Yarrow cocked his head and shrugged. "Oi, you," he said to the man as he approached. "I know you?"

"You don't remember me?" the man asked incredulously.

"Sorry, I get drunk a lot. Faces aren't really my strong point," Yarrow grinned.

The man looked like he was about to explode. Nathan exchanged a glance with his friend, a knowing look in his eye. He flexed his muscles in anticipation. This was about to get real good. "You had a chat with my friend, Chet, the other week," he said.

"Nope, we don't know any Chet's sorry," Yarrow said. The man let out an enraged growl, and swung his fist forwards.

An hour later, Nathan found himself running through the street, several purple bruises forming on his body and a grin on his face. He had no regrets.

* * *

**Letters from the Sky by Civil Twilight**

* * *

**A/N, here's your third batch of tributes. I'm not entirely happy with the way all of these six turned out (although, some of them I'm very pleased with). I kind of just want these out of the way though, so I didn't spend ten million hours editing and reediting them to perfection. I'd expect the last background chapter next weekend, and then the reaping chapter to come shortly after ****that (I'm really excited to write about all my mentors so that one will probably go quickly. Yeah, I don't have much else to say right now. Hopefully you liked these six characters. **

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


	5. Letters From the Sky (Part 4)

**Letters from the Sky (Part 4)**

"But until that day I'll find a way to let everybody know that you're coming back. You're coming back for me."

* * *

**Emmer Connifer, 13, District 11**

* * *

"Hey Lew, look at that," Emmer pointed ahead. Emmer's friend glanced up with curious brown eyes. Her brow furrowed when she saw what Emmer was talking about. Down the road a bit, a crowd was forming. Emmer grabbed the sturdy wooden pole that supported her porch, and swung around, trying to see what everyone was getting excited about. Lew noticed the peacekeepers first.

"Em, there goes Head Peacekeeper Gordon," she whispered, wide eyed. Emmer chewed on her lip as she looked over her shoulder back into her house. Her mother was upstairs in her study working at the moment, and her father was out, doing something or other. Neither would notice if she disappeared for a few minutes. And, of course, even if they got caught, she doubted her parents would care too too much. As long as they stayed safe.

"Let's go check it out," Emmer said, jumping to her feet, as she stared down the road. Her feet flitting over the pavement. Lew began to follower her after a moment, a protest dying on her lips. She knew Emmer wasn't going to listen, so why try?

The two girls wove between the crowd, using their short stature to their advantage to push between the legs of some of the adults. It was incredible how fast they all appeared. Just minutes ago the street had practically been deserted, and now, people were squeezed shoulder to shoulder into the square. It was kind of weird actually. Finally, after a few minutes of pushing, they were pushed into a small opening. Between the arms of a few last stray onlookers, they caught a look at the action.

In the middle of the village center, four peacekeepers were lined up in rigid stance. Two more were forcing a struggling man down into the well used stocks. After a few more seconds, another peacekeeper joined the fray. Seconds later the man was locked in, and had ceased his squirming. Emmer slipped onto her tippy toes, craning her neck.

"What'd he do?" she inquired aloud.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," she heard a grim mutter respond from behind. She doubted that though. The peacekeepers always arrested people for _something. _Whether their reasons were sound was another matter of course; although Emmer didn't really think there was ever an excuse to really justify being arrested. The Capitol's rules were clear enough. Really it wasn't that hard to follow them.

"Emmer? Lew?" a familiar voice called. Emmer glanced up, catching the tear-streaked face of her friend Heather a few feet away.

"Hey what's wrong?" Emmer said, her eyebrows knotting sympathetically. Heather glanced over at Lew, her face contorting as she shared a moment of unspoken understanding with the girl.

"He's not your dad is he?" Lew whispered.

"No, my uncle," Heather sniffled in reply. Emmer looked between the two, frowning before glancing back up at the man in the stocks. He did slightly resemble Heather around the nose, and in his dark coloring.

Huh, she wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. "What did they catch him doing?" Emmer asked curiously.

"I-I don't even know," Heather choked. "I think they might shoot him though."

"No they won't. They wouldn't have gone through the trouble of putting him in the stocks then," Emmer shook her head. And there it was. Heather smiled appreciatively as Lew put an arm around her shoulder. There was a reason that everyone loved Emmer despite the fact that she was rich, that she didn't really understand their poverty or the depth of their pain. Sometimes a few kind words from a mildly empathetic peer was exactly what kids like Heather needed.

* * *

**Calder Hannigan, 16, District 4**

* * *

Calder sat on the rail, his worn tank top soaked with sweat. He could feel his dark brown hair sticking to his forehead, as wiped a cool wet towel against his skin. "That was nice," Adrien, called as he jogged over. Like Calder, Adrien was soaked in his own sweat. Nevertheless, as he neared, he held out his hand. Calder shook it with a welcoming smile. Just seconds ago, he had won a blunt spear duel against Adrien, and he was feeling happy. Not that he won, of course, but just that the fight had gone well in all the other aspects. Adrien and he had a blast together.

"Thanks, you did good too," he replied between heavy breaths. For two trainees who specialized in two totally different weapons, they were relatively even when it came to the blunt spear. It was these matches against peers that were always the most fun. Calder pointed to the mat, a warm smile on his face, as Kyle and Morgan lined up to begin the fight.

"Ready for next week? I hear they've got Reven going up. You've got to tell him that I wished him luck okay? I'm sure he's going to make up for last year's mess perfectly," Adrien said.

Calder nodded. "He's going to do great," he agreed. Reven was Calder's best friend. Just the other week he'd been chosen as this year's volunteer, and Calder was happy for him, albeit a little worried. This was Reven's dream.

Just as the fight on the floor began to finish up, Calder felt someone tap his shoulder. Turning he saw none other than the great Seymour Yew looking at him, his face stony. "Mr. Hannigan, please follow me to my office. We've got something to discuss," Yew said. Calder felt the nerves hit him immediately, as his stomach twisted. Shooting Adrien a slightly embarrassed and apologetic look, he hopped off the rail and onto the hall floor.

"Did I do something wrong sir?" Calder babbled out. Yew didn't respond as he strutted down the hallway. Trainees and trainers alike flew out of Yew's way as he stormed forward. He was not the kind of man that you wanted to piss off. Calder silently racked his brain for his mistake because surely, he must have triggered this somehow. Despite knowing that he must be to blame, he was almost sure he hadn't done anything stupid recently.

Then what was the problem?

They reached Yew's office quickly enough. The Head Trainer threw the door open, entering the room in the same way he entered every room: dramatically. Calder teetered in after him, his eyes widening when he found Reven waiting inside for him. Calder's best friend smiled bitterly when he caught his eye. Calder swallowed hard, as he took in the image. Reven's entire lower leg was in a thick sea green cast.

"Sit down Mr. Hannigan," Yew demanded.

"Yes sir," Calder nodded, taking a seat in front of his desk, beside Reven. Calder drummed his fingers against his leg, too afraid to ask questions, as Seymour Yew situated himself.

"And here I thought I was finally going to have a dull year with our two tributes this year," Yew finally spoke. "You were aware, Mr. Hannigan, that Ms. Ula Taylor and your friend here, Mr. Reven Stonem were meant to be our volunteers this year yes?" Calder nodded. "As you can see, our plans have been changed." Calder glanced at the cast, and then back at Reven, his heart sinking for his friend.

"I've still got next year," Reven assured him aloud.

"Ha, says the boy with the broken leg. Do you know how long it takes for an injury like that to heal child?" Yew spat angrily. Reven fell silent, looking absolutely crushed, as Yew's eyes stared daggers into the boy.

"Sir, then why are you calling me here?" Calder asked, the heinous nervousness growing in his chest.

"I asked him who he'd like to replace him, as per tradition," Yew continued, in a slightly calmer voice. "He said he'd like for you to go in his stead."

Calder's lips parted in shock. He didn't know what to say. A wave of uneasiness washed over him. A million thoughts seemed to reel through his mind. Of course, the suspected culprits were there- thoughts of killing, of probable death. They were quickly consumed by those of the Capitol though, of the impossible task of impressing an entire nation with just a few words. He could feel a million eyes sticking to his back like leeches, sucking the life out of him already. It made him feel sick.

"It'd be an honor sir." He wasn't even sure where the words came from. But they came. In the corner, Reven was beaming.

"Good. I have high hopes for you boy. Dylan Hays won from a last minute switch. Please, don't screw up," Yew said, and then with a simple flick of the wrist, he dismissed both boys. Reven had to drag Calder out of the office by the arm. The door closing behind them sounded like the heartless thumping of judge's gavel.

"You okay Calder?" Reven asked, his brow creased with worry.

Complete and utter panic rose in Calder's chest as he glanced at his friend. Now Reven looked upset. He was screwing things up. He should be happy. He had to be happy about this. "Yeah, just caught me a bit off guard. This was supposed to be your year, you know," Calder said with a nervous laugh.

Reven smiled, appreciatively. "Aw, well, I messed this up for myself. You go for the gold man. You've got this, I can feel it." Calder swallowed.

He sure hoped so.

* * *

**Loden Tsiperal, 14, District 8**

* * *

The factories always sounded like a clock during the late afternoon. One of the loom reels rubbed up against some wall every time it made a round, creating a subtle clanking noise. Loden had considered bringing it up with Mr. Travis, one of the adult supervisors; however, the man had a bad temper, and whatever the source, it didn't seem to be damaging anything. The problem had been present ever since Loden starting working as one of the Loom Managers.

Currently, Loden was propped up against the rail of one of the catwalks, watching the threads turn below him blankly. The ticking noise had lulled him into the realm of his own thoughts, for better or for worse. He was worrying, but that was nothing new. Earlier that day while he was at school, he had bumped into a boy named Tex, and the confrontation hadn't gone so well. Latch usually was a relatively hostile guy. Loden had passed him in the hall, and their shoulders brushed up against each other. It was only an accident, but Tex flipped out, shoving Loden into one of the lockers.

Some words were exchanged after that, and Loden got the sense that Tex had been offended somehow. Naturally, all Loden could think about now was what he had done wrong, if anything. He didn't like having people mad at him like that.

"Yo Loden," a voice echoed down from above.

Snapping out of his anxious reverie, Loden glanced upwards, finding Roko, a fellow Loom Manager, on the catwalk directly above him. "'Sup?" Loden called back.

"One of my gears stopped working, I need a hand," Roko said. Nodding, Loden jumped to his feet, scaling a near by ladder to the next level of metal framework. Roko smiled gratefully as he led Loden over to wheel number sixty three. The smaller boy could hear the problem before he saw it, as the loud grinding noise it was making drowned out the rhythmic ticking from below.

He could see the clump of sticky dyed string caught in one of the gears in the heart of the mechanism. That happened sometimes, when one of the reels from above met the end of their line. The factory policy was to go get one of the adult supervisors to handle the situation, but that meant calling over Mr. Travis, which wasn't an option without accepting some kind of pay cut. The two boys had learned a long time ago just to rely on each other.

"I think it's my turn to go in," Roko said casually as he grabbed a rope harness that hung from one of the rafters. Loden grabbed onto the end of a coiled rope while Roko strapped himself into the thing. Minutes later, Loden was maneuvering his friend over the maze of looms, with the skilled hands of experience. The fix didn't require much strength or risk on his behalf, albeit, some coordination was necessary. It was Roko who really was at risk. He had to pull the string from the gears, but if he moved to slow once he got ahold of it, he'd lose a hand, or worse. A lot of kids died in factories fixing these kinds of errors.

Loden tried not to think about it too often.

As he waited for Roko to position himself over the loom correctly, he started thinking about Tex again. Maybe tomorrow he'd go sit at the other boy's lunch table and try to talk to him. He could apologize for bumping into him, and for anything else he might have done. Or maybe he'd talk to Janet Flush. She was one of Tex's friends, maybe she'd know what was wrong. After a few minutes, Roko's voice echoed from the looms.

"Got it," he called. Loden began to reel Roko in, eyeing the green glob of mangled fabric that was currently staining the suspended boy's hands.

"I think trees might be that color," Loden joked aloud.

Roko grinned. "Who told you they were green?" he said. Then the two boys broke out laughing because it's just what they did.

Aha, Loden knew what he was going to do about Tex now. His family was going to be eating a lot for dinner that night anyways- they'd been doing better the past couple months since Avanna Welcher won the District better rations. He could afford to spare a crumb or two tonight. And nobody could say no to a decent bite of grain.

There were few things Loden wouldn't do to make amends with strangers.

* * *

**Dorren "Hal" Hallows, 17, District Six**

* * *

"Come take your chances, one and all. You think you're lucky? Come win it all right here," Uncle Avron shouted, his bony hands cupped around his mouth. Hal smirked beside him, watching as his booming voice started attracting a crowd.

Between Hal's fingers, he twirled a slim stick, watching it aimlessly. He was trying to pretend to be uninterested in his Uncle's antics, though he doubted he was succeeding. He loved watching a good trick.

A young, grizzled man broke from the crowd that had formed, stepping forwards and boldly sitting in the chair opposite Uncle Avron. Judging from the grey soot that coated his skin and cloths, he must have come from the train yard. He probably was a coal shoveler or something. Hal's mischievous grin grew slightly as he watched his Uncle's posture grow cocky. This was the type of person that Hal and his family could bleed dry with their eyes closed.

"I'll take you on," the man declared as he put his filthy elbow's on the table Uncle Avron set up.

"Good man," Avron cheered, holding his hand out graciously. "The name's Honest Avron. I always like to get on good terms with my victims before I steal all their money."

The man laughed, assuming that Uncle Avron was joking. Of course, he wasn't. "Call me Felix," the man replied, as he pulled a few dollar bills from his pocket.

"So how much are you going to wager for round one? I'll match whatever you put up," Avron said.

"Twenty," Felix said.

"Forty on the table then."

"Now we're going to play a game I like to call checks, okay? See this deck of cards here? Flip through them, make sure I'm not rigging the system," Uncle Avron said, fanning out his personal deck for Felix to examine. The worker scrutinized them for a moment, checking their thickness, eyeing their numbers. Hal glanced over at Avron's relaxed form. He could feel his excitement growing as he watched them. See, Uncle Avron was a bit of an artist. Hal admired his abilities immensely.

When Felix approved of the deck, Uncle Avron began to shuffle the cards together. "I'll deal each of us three cards, then I'm going to flip the first four cards off the deck. The goal is to get as close to a poker flush as possible. Nothing else counts. Aye?" Felix nodded. "Whoever gets the closest wins. No skill, no tricks, simply luck. Now do you want me to deal, or a third party."

"Third party," Felix answered immediately.

"Hal my boy, come here," Uncle Avron called. "This is one of our performers for later, folks in case you're wondering. Stop by later tonight and he'll give you a real show."

"What 'cha need," Hal asked with a grin, pretending like he hadn't heard Uncle Avron's spiel already.

"Deal our hands out, each three cards," Uncle Avron said. Hal nodded, shuffling the cards quickly before dealing out two hands.

"Felix right? Pick what hand you want. Don't want to go giving Avron here any extra advantages," Hal winked. Felix took the hand that was further away from himself. Uncle Avron smiled as he eyed his chosen cards.

"Now's your chance to fold Felix, my friend. We can deal again if you want," Uncle Avron offered.

"I think you have less luck than you think, Felix shook his head.

Uncle Avron shrugged, and signaled for Hal to flip the top four cards. Hal did so, noticing how Avron took his fanned cards and pushed them into a neat pile. He knew that was where the slight of hand happened; although he wasn't exactly sure how he did it. Uncle Avron didn't give away his secrets easily. Not even to his best friend's young admiring son. Hal flipped the cards. None of them were high, meaning that whatever was in the two player's hands would decide the winner.

"Show you're loot," Uncle Avron said, revealing his three cards- two jacks and a queen. One of the jacks and the queen were both diamonds. Felix went pale as he opened up his hand- a three, a ten, and a king, all different suits. That gave Avron the win. Hal grinned, enjoying the devastated look of shock that was blooming on Felix's face. You'd think that people would learn eventually not to play cards with anyone that came off of their little street performance wagon. They didn't

Before anyone started to get suspicious, Hal leapt to his feet. This was always the routine. Uncle Avron cheated someone, and then whoever was around would start the distraction. It was the reason they were all still in business. "That's a shame," he said, somewhat earnestly. "Anyone want a preview for tonight's fun?" A few cheers arose from the crowd, and Hal pulled a lighter out from his pocket as he grinned wildly.

This was the life.

* * *

**Biathyst Darlucaan, 17, District 1**

* * *

Biathyst sat in the Academy's school lounge with her feet up on the coffee table and her manicured fingers cluching a Capitol magazine. Avanna Welcher was on the cover, his face smiling, but eyes depressed. Around her, random paintings and other works of artistry acted as her backdrop, depicting her as some kind of elated little girl who was just overjoyed about winning the Hunger Games. Biathyst scowled at the girl's face. She didn't deserve Victory, not with how she was rejecting her fellow tribute's sacrifice.

Flipping the page, Biathyst found herself looking at the Finnick Odair and Kegan Capiton, each surrounded by their own post-game hobbies: male modeling and innovating technolgy respectively. Even though they weren't from District One, Biathyst respected these two victors immensely. They had taken their Victories well, as far as she knew. Judging by the snippets of televised interviews that she had seen on T.V., and the rumors she'd heard around the Training Academy, both of them had taken everything in stride. They weren't wallowing in depression and tears like Avanna, and Baithyst respected that.

That was the kind of Victor she wanted to be- the kind that didn't scorn the other twenty three other tribute's sacrifice, and didn't spend the rest of her life bathed in a pool of their blood. She wanted to understand that her sins were a neccesary evil, and then to move on, her life improved for the better.

After all, it wouldn't be that much of a change for her. That's basically how she lived already.

"Hey Biathyst, I've been looking all over for you," a shrill voice called from down the hallway. Biathyst craned her neck around to see her friend, Milah approaching rather enthusiastically.

"What's up?" Biathyst asked, setting the magazine down.

"Kills and Bealfire said they were heading into town to hang out. I haven't been able to find Harleen yet, but they wanted to know if the three of us could come," Milah explained.

"And why asked you, exactly," Biathyst asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"Baelfire," Milah blushed, her pale cheeks turning rosy in an instant. "But come on, I want to go anyway. I mean, you know there are going to be some guys there from the graduating class. And we both know you like your men older."

Biathyst rolled her eyes and gave Milah a somewhat playful, somewhat violent shove. "Yeah whatever you say," she hummed. "Are we going or not? I think Harleen is upstairs in the library, looking over Games strategy or something." Milah nodded and the two girls began to walk over to the steps to search for their friend. They were about half way up the stairs when they ran into the boys.

Kills was a tall mischievous boy with sea blue eyes. In the dim lighting, the pale scar that ran down his jaw line seemed almost ghostly. Kills, was a nick name of course, given to him by some group testosterone driven young boys years ago. For whatever unfortunate reason, it had stuck. Just behind him, a slimmer brown haired boy stood in Kills' shadow, his eyes lighting up as Milah came into view. Biathyst smiled as she saw the change in his mood. Milah had been leading the kid on for months now, poor guy; although, Biathyst had started wondering if Milah actually was enjoying his attention a bit more than she let on.

"Hey ladies," Kills grinned, a smug shine in his eye. His chin was tilted up at a cocky angle as he looked at the girls. He always had that stupid look on his face. He thought that he was entitled because his parents paid ridiculous amounts of money to have him train here, while people like Biathyst were there on a something of a forced scholarship. It didn't matter though. Either way, they were both students, and either way, Biathyst was going to get a chance at the Games, while Kills most likely wasn't.

She already had been chosen to be this year's volunteer- it was one of the reasons for her sudden boost in popularity, not that she wasn't popular before.

"I see your cuts healing up nicely," Biathyst said sweetly.

"Never been better babe," Kills said, his smile twitching.

"Just consider yourself lucky. My aim has been better," Biathyst said. She let the words hang there for a moment. "Now we're going upstairs to find Harleen. I guess we'll see you later guys."

"Yeah, see you later," Baelfire called, mirroring the enthusiasm that Milah was silently bubbling with. Kills elbowed his friend in the rib cage, and Biathyst disappeared around the bend of the stair well, a silent smile playing across her face.

She wanted to see the look on Kills face if she returned home with the victory crown. Now that, would be fun.

* * *

**Cobi "Bo" Kasper, 15, District 5**

* * *

Pain. That's what she had come to know these past few days. It wasn't always the searing hot sticky pain of the whip, or the splitting spasmic pain of the flat bat. No, in fact, most of the time it was just the dull thudding ache of healing wounds. But the point is, that she knew pain. Around her, darkness filled everything. She'd learned to find comfort in the shadows recently. Sunlight just meant a new kind of interrogation, a new kind of pain. No, she much preferred to lay on the cool ground, her hand cuffed to the wall, as she drifted in and out of sleep.

That's what she was doing right now, actually. Her most recent injury was a whip lash across her cheek that had swollen up the entire side of her face. She was laying on the other cheek, allowing the cool air to air out the open wound. What had she done to deserve this?

The door swung open in the front of the cell, and light suddenly poured in. She cringed, letting a feral cry escape her lungs as she fled away from the blinding white all lamps. The taunting cries of the other condemned echoed into her holding cell as the sound of another body hitting the ground thumped in her ears. Someone let out a pained grunt, and then the door closed. She lifted her head, wondering who had joined her.

She had been alone ever since they had picked her up the other day.

"Bo?" a weak voice travelled through the darkness.

She blanched as she lifted her weak body from the ground, struggling to move herself over to her new company. Her heart sank as her arm jerked against the chains. It looked like she was stuck to the wall.

"You okay Jaak?" she whispered quietly. If she spoke to loudly, they'd hear them and take him away again. She hadn't even known he was alive since they had been taken. How long had it been? Hours, days weeks? She wasn't sure. At least he was alive though. The sound of his voice was a beacon of light in her pit. She wondered why they finally decided to keep them in the same holding cell.

"For now, yeah," he breathed. "M-my feet. The b-bat." He didn't need to elaborate, she could infer the rest.

"I'm sorry," Bo winced, her voice wavering. This was her fault. The morphling had been her idea. Their father had sold the stuff on the street for years without being caught, and all they needed was the money from one delivery. They had been _so _hungry.

"S'okay," Jaak responded. There was silence for another moment before he broke the silence. "They're going to to kill us you know. They thought I was out, and I heard them talking. They're waiting for us to turn sixteen. Something about the head peacekeeper's morales."

Bo grew somber. She had expected as much. The only question was whether they'd do it publically or privately. Both options were possible. Recently, people went missing just about as often as they showed up in the District guillotine located in the front of the justice building. It was the new Head Peacekeeper Aras. His new regime was coming down hard on everyone. Bo felt her shoulders quaking, somewhat angrily. She hated this. She hated this so much.

"Any ideas?" Jaak asked.

She paused, somewhat taken aback by her twin's voice. Then she felt stupid for not saying the words herself. It wasn't like either of them to just role over.

"No, but I'll think of something," Bo replied. "Just give me some time."

And for a few minutes, she actually believed it herself.

* * *

**Letters from the Sky by Civil Twilight**

* * *

**A/N ****Sorry for the bit of a late update. I've got three HUGE papers due very soon, and its hard to justify writing this when I have those looming over my shoulder... although I was very bad and came up with an excuse anyways. **

**Any who, these are the final six tributes. You've had a very very brief glimpse at all the tributes now. I'd love to hear who your early favorites are (out of everyone, not only these six). Obviously these are apt to change, because I've with held a lot of info for later, and just because opinions change over the the course of these things. But yeah, it's always fun to see who likes who int he beginning and then how opinions change later on. I'll probably do a fave tribute poll around the interviews. **

**Up next is the actual reaping, which will be from mentors perspective, then off to the Capitol we go. The next update might take longer than expected because of the papers I've got to write, Thanksgiving, and because it's just going to be a long chapter in the first place. But it'll come hopefully within the next two weeks. **

**Until Next Time**

**- Tales**


	6. Is It Any Wonder?

**Is It Any Wonder?**

"Oh, these days, after all the misery you made, is it any wonder that I feel afraid?"

* * *

**Ritz Newman, Victor of the 63rd Hunger Games**

* * *

When a career wins the Hunger Games, he expects a lot of things. Fame and fortune, of course, are on a new Victor's list of expected gifts, but for a career, there seems to be more than just that. A career expects glamour in their new life. They expect to become some sort of new born deity, forged in battle for the sole purpose if being worshiped. When Ritz won, he did more than expect it, he thought that the District and Capitol owed him that much.

What he did not expect was to spend the majority of his days babysitting Sterling Walker, to make sure that he didn't drown in his own vomit.

"We are literally twenty feet away from the stage Sterling, if you can't walk up a few steps, I swear, I'll drag you. When Jade sees that you're this trashed at two in the afternoon, she's going to shoot you," Ritz threatened hotly as he ripped the bottle of whiskey from Sterling's hand.

"I dare herrr ta," Sterling slurred, a sloppy unscrupulous grin stretching across his wet lips. Ritz's mouth thinned into a white line as his anger mounted, his critical eyes burning into Sterling's skull.

"Once a year, that's all they ask. Once a year for you to sit on a God damned st-"

"Shhhut up," Sterling said, popping the final syllable. Ritz stared blankly at him for a moment before turning on his heels and walking away, hopping up the stage to take his seat beside Gloss.

"Sterling..." Gloss muttered, glancing over Ritz's shoulder.

"Not today," Ritz shook his head, absolutely furious. He owed Sterling Walker his life. He knew that. But even he had a limit. He couldn't do this his entire life. Or rather, he wouldn't.

At the microphone, some unfamiliar woman with posh cyan skin had begun speaking. They must have gotten a new escort. He shuddered wondering what had happened to the last one- he was dead probably.

"And our female tribute is..." the woman trilled in an obnoxiously high pitched voice. Ritz tuned her out as his sight honed in on a very tall tanned girl in the seventeen year old section. Biathyst Darlucaan.

Gloss and he had received bios earlier that week, and Ritz had studied them extensively. Biathyst wouldn't be his tribute. No, he had Jeremite Garnet, the muscular charming boy with a secret temper. Biathyst couldn't be ignored though. He won his Games because of his strategist mind, and knowing the enemy was half the battle.

Mentoring the Games was one of his favorite past times these days. That was rather sad.

Sure enough, seconds later, Biathyst was walking boldly up to the stage, her face set in determination. She was going to be tough competition.

"And our male tribute..." The escort called a name. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer," came the quick answer. Jeremite came walking up with his shoulders straight and an air of confidence. A smile was swinging dancing on his lips. Already Ritz knew he'd be rolling in the sponsor dough. Jeremite was handsome enough after all, with his grey eyes and golden blonde hair. Jade told him that's why he was chosen, partially. They thought he'd be able to get the Capitol to purchase his victory.

Ritz knew better of course. Victory was not purchased. It was a combination of luck, grit, and President Snow's preordained expectations. Ritz's job was to teach tributes how to embody a principle that didn't exist- the perfect Victor. And though he had not yet brought anyone home, he thought he was rather good at it.

* * *

**Kegan Capiton, Victor of the 64th Hunger Games**

* * *

Newt. Newt. Newt.

That was all he heard about these days. Honestly, he could practically feel his brain cells dying as he listened to Jason ramble on and on about his grandson endlessly. It was awful. Jason was absolutely deluded about Newt's chances in the Games. The kid was an airhead, everyone knew it. But he was Jason's airhead, and for whatever reason that seemed to give him special privileges to an early death.

That wasn't the worst part though. The sickest note in this morbid song was that Kegan was going to have to mop up the crushed remains of Jason Strong when he eventually ended up watching his grandson getting murdered on live T.V. The last time Jason mentored was 17 years ago. After a five minute chat, it was clear that he didn't remember the sting of grief when you failed to bring a tribute home. But Kegan knew the feeling all too well. He could only imagine the complete and utter sorrow he might feel if someone he actually loved was out there, like Zia or Chastel. He'd probably never recover.

Beside him Enoboria practically hissed at him. "Worry about your own tribute's skin," she breathed in his ear, her pointed teeth bared. Kegan looked at her, mildly disgusted. She had made her opinion on the matter clear the other day when he had brought the issue up with Kent.

"I volunteer," a girl shouted from the front row. Kegan watched with an unhindered scowl on his face as the girl approached the stage, her blonde hair shimmering in the sun. She had a sway in her walk that was undeniably ditzy, but something about her blue eyes told him not to write her off so easily. So this was Andromeda Albion, his tribute for the year. She would be the first girl on his conscience when she died, after Chateaux that is.

"Onto the boys," Albina Schetz cooed, moving to the next bowl. "Remy Benedict!"

Everything happened at once. From the eighteen year olds, a blonde haired kid- apparently Newt- began to lazily raise his hand, a cocky smirk on his face. Then a bellowing cry rose from somewhere behind the boy and chaos ensued. Peacekeepers bolted from the side of the crowd, guns in hand, but they weren't prepared for whatever was happening. Kegan lost sight of Newt as he tripped over someone's feet, and all the other boys seemed to scramble. The next thing Kegan could clearly distinguish was a chiseled brown haired guy walking onto the stage his hand raised high and blood dribbling doen from a split lip. His eyes were cold and serious.

"I'm Brodus and I volunteer," he said. Kegan watched as Brodus's gaze moved towards him, until it felt as if the tribute was staring him in the very eye. Then he realized that Brodus wasn't looking at him at all, he was staring at the mayor, who sat to Kegan's left. "Mayor Dimmesdale," he nodded curtly, in greeting. The mayor gave a choked grunt in response.

Suddenly, an infuriated screech ripped from Jason's throat a few feet down. "You little-" Kent Garrison cut him off, placing a grey hand over his friends mouth, a wide grin on his face. Kegan glanced between the boy, Brodus, and Jason, feeling the tension rising.

"You think you're tough now kid? We won't condone this!" Jason cried, breaking from Kent's weak grip. "Someone go get Myke Donnaham. I want Myke here now. I hope you have a nice time in the Capitol boy because the next week is going to be your last!"

Kegan felt the color drain from his face. He was going to be mentoring with Myke now? He was never even permitted to meet Myke. His name was a taboo in both the Training Center and Victor's Village, and Kegan, a victor for four years now, didn't even know why.

Well great. This was just going to be wonderful.

* * *

**Sparky Neutro, Victor of the 54th Hunger Games**

* * *

District Three was always too logical for the Hunger Games, Sparky thought as he slumped in his chair on the stage. His cold gaze skimmed the kids who were chatting to each other in their slaughter pens. They were all scared, of course, but the fear wasn't the same as it was out in Ten or Eleven. No, they all felt too secure. They thought that because the odds of their names being chosen was one in a million, that the Hunger Games were almost non-consequencial. That's why they had the nerve to talk to each other down there. It was also the reason that Sparky couldn't stand being out here with them.

Ignorant fools. The whole lot of them.

"That's odd," Wiress chimed from beside him. Sparky glanced over at her, following her gaze up to the sky. A bird was circling above, a rather unnatural sight in Three's city. "You don't think..."

"It must be," Beetee said.

Sparky looked at them, mildly annoyed. Of course, he was used to the telepathy the two seemed to share by now. That didn't change the fact that he thought it was obnoxious. There was a time when he thought he was District Three's pride and joy, a prodigy. Of course, he wasn't. He had a big ego, and an average intellect, but that was it. The Games had taught him otherwise- humility through humiliation.

Now he was trapped between the legacy of genius one and intuitive two, and he'd never get away from it. Beetee tried to include him in some of his studies, but Sparky wasn't interested, not anymore at least. Beetee was too quick to give out his charity to people who didn't want it.

Up in front of them, the mayor had finished speaking, and Carlton Odysseus was moving to the microphone. Carlton wore his pearly white wry grin as he walked onto the stage, his eyes scanning the heads of the crowd hungrily as he took the microphone. Licking his lips he gave a quick bow. "How good to see you all faring well again this year," Carlton laughed giddily. Sparky pursed his lips, his anger bubbling.

"Ladies first, as always right?" he said, reaching into the bowl. "Aerial Hobbs."

A high pitched squeak escaped somewhere near the front. Moments later, a girl with fiery red hair was swaying forwards. She looked upset. Her face was practically turning blue from the effort she was exerting holding in the tears. She managed to get up to the stage without the help of the peacekeepers though. Carlton looked elated as he eyed her. The girl had come from the fifteen year old section, but she was tall. Carlton liked it when the tributes were bigger.

"Good girl. Now onto the boys... Zync Ollson."

Someone cried out from the family section. It sounded like a woman, so probably the kids mother or sister or something. Maybe even an older girlfriend. This time, the sixteen year olds stirred. Sparky looked down at the boy in question with hateful pity in his eye. He was smaller than the girl, with small almond shaped eyes and caramel colored skin. The boy looked absolutely mortified, his mouth open stupidly.

"Better than last year," Wiress sighed. She was making her judgement based on the newly reaped tributes' size and age. Sparky disagreed with her though. This was no better. At least the boy knew some strategy last year.

"I beg to differ," Sparky mumbled as he watched the rest of the District flee from the square. For them this was a just a bad day.

But they didn't understand. It wasn't just a bad day, it was a bad week, a bad year, a bad lifetime. It never ended. Not now, not ever. It was just the way things were.

* * *

**Molly Korr, Victor of the 26th Hunger Games**

* * *

Zale's tie was stained, and it was bothering her. Shifting in the hard metal chair, she glanced nervously down the row, towards Finnick and the mayor, and then back in the other direction, towards Mags. The eldest District Four victor caught Molly's eyes, giving her a sad wink. _Calm down, _Mag's eyes said. But Molly wouldn't calm down. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as if it was that first day again, so many years ago, the day she foolishly volunteered.

"Zale, you've got something on your tie," she said through pursed lips.

"Looky whose decided to be charming today," he grumbled, glaring at her. His breath smelled like tobacco, just like his cloths and skin. She wrinkled her nose, feeling her face turning red.

"Please Zale, we're about to be on television," she said.

"So you know why I needed my smoke," he said, raising a silver eyebrow.

She really wished he would clean up the ash smudge on his tie.

To her left, Molly felt Coral's gentle hand slipping into hers. The girl's eyes were strong, and a wisp of a smile played across her lips. "You holding up well?" she whispered under her breath. Molly's sagging skin softened as she gave Coral a tight smile, smoothing down a stray hair on Coral's forehead as she did so.

"I'll be fine dear," Molly sighed.

"Well," the mayor clapped, jumping to his feet at the end of the row. "Looks like we should start moving things along." He walked leisurely over to the microphone, tapping it to get the kid's attention. Their excited chatter stopped, as they gave the mayor their undivided attention. Of course, they all knew the names of the two destined volunteers- Calder Hannigan and Ula Taylor. Seymour made sure that all tributes-to-be were famous even before they volunteered. That way, they couldn't chicken out.

Molly shuddered, her eyes glancing over at Zale's tie again. She had a cloth in her dress pocket, she could clean him up in just a second. He would be mad at her though. He liked it when he looked defiled. It made him feel like some kind of glorified bad boy, despite the fact that he should have that phase a while ago. The man was pushing sixty-two.

In front of them, the mayor finished speaking, and Iris Siren replaced him. "Let's go with our girls now," Iris sang happily as she danced over to the bowl. "Genevieve Holland."

There was an ever so brief pause before the voice rang out: "I volunteer."

A strong dark skinned girl leapt forward, her brown eyes shining. She looked confident, but not cocky. Molly supposed that was a good thing. It had been a long time since she had mentored anyone though. She didn't know how to pinpoint a Victor, not anymore.

"Lovely, and your name?" Iris giggled, holding the girl the microphone.

"Ula Taylor," the tribute said, with a nod and a small curved smile.

"Very good, and of course, our we can't forget the boys," she said, bouncing over to the male bowl. "Tide Jenkins."

There was a longer pause this time before Calder Hannigan stepped forward with his arm in the air. "I-I volunteer," he stuttered out, shooting up to the stage too fast.

Molly swallowed. That was Finnick's tribute. Really, he was the reason that she was making her exciting return to the Capitol. See, Finnick had received a letter from Snow recently, and though he hadn't told anyone about it, Mags knew what they wanted. Molly had been on the phone with Seymour Yew hours after the letter appeared, discussing the upcoming Games. It frightened her, knowing she was going to go back to that place, with those people. She was terrified that she might see some of the old regulars again- terrified that they might want to see her, just like old times, even though she was an old worn out rag now.

But no, they had all moved on to newer beauties now. Finnick would be their next conquest, and Molly had to go to be there for him. Because nobody knew what it felt like to be that dirty better than her- good girls were a fad the year she won. Glancing over at Zale, her eyes focused on his tie. Grabbing her handkerchief, she reached out impulsively and began cleaning it off.

He lurched backwards, almost falling over his chair as he batted her hand away. "Go clean up after the real children Molls," he seethed.

But she felt better. Her little peice of the world was clean again, if only for a few seconds.

* * *

**Atom Washer, Victor of the 43rd Hunger Games**

* * *

Atom looked lazily out at the crowd, as he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He had taken some kind of sleeping pill last night, but it hadn't quite worn off yet. He felt like he he was still walking around in a haze. Humming slightly, he let out a rather unscrupulous burp. He should really stop experimenting with the pills. They were rather unbecoming of him.

"Hey," Retina croaked from the stairs as she joined him on stage. Her hand was quaking anxiously as she tapped her leg. She was looking surprisingly sober, and the sight of it made Atom grin.

"Lookin' good Algo," he cooed.

"Come on Atom, don't push things," Lucus sighed as he climbed the steps behind her. "She's making an effort."

Atom just shrugged. "Hey, I'm sober too right now, I think. So I'm allowed to poke all the fun I want. You get to run the pity party after you come back from the Games, remember? Not before." His dry laugh soon echoed through the air, the only sound in the empty square. Time passed as they waited for Isaac to show up.

"I thought I told him to be here early," Reyna Pulman, the escort tapped impatiently from her seat.

"He's probably with Thomas. He was worse when we woke up this morning. Just get started," Retina said. Atom raised a curious eyebrow. They both knew that Isaac was off hiding somewhere, too skittish to face this stage. He most certainly wasn't with Thomas. He was pretty sure that Lucas was the only one who ever bothered checking up on that old dying victor nowadays.

The mayor made her speech quickly, and soon Pulman was up there, calling the names. "Kayla Everly." Atom craned his neck, as he searched for the doomed kid. Some child from the middle row stepped forward, sobbing and shaking as she moved up.

"Any volunteers?" Reyna asked. Atom rolled his eyes at the stupid formality. Really, why anyone other than One Two and Four bothered with this-

"I do, I volunteer," someone yelled. Atom rubbed his eyes for a moment. Geez, he must have went way too overboard with the drugs last night if they were giving him hallucinations. His little girl was going to be pissed at him.

Then the sobbing kid was gone, and a girl with auburn hair and a pointed nose was there. The new girl was dirty, absurdly so, and her body looked frail.

"A-a volunteer?" Reyna said, stunned, staring at the girl for a second before gathering her wits. "What's your name?"

"Cobi Kasper, but call me Bo," the girl said. Atom blinked a few times, but the girl didn't disappear. She was real then. Five wasn't completely alien to volunteers. They'd had two over the course of 66 Games. One of whom was sitting right next to him- Retina.

"How exciting, boys next... Stoker Tachen," Reyna moved on. The crowd shuffled uncomfortably for a minute before the peacekeepers moved forward. One of them placed their hand on the shoulder of the boy in question, whose eyes spun to the peacekeeper in a panic. He bolted away from the man, sprinting right up onto the stage on his own accord. The boy was short with pale skin and sunken eyes. He stood with a slight hunch in his back, making him look like a kicked puppy. Atom snorted. The boy was probably a bloodbath.

"Lucas I want the girl," Retina said quietly.

"What?"

"I want the girl," Retina repeated.

"Oh... okay sure," he mumbled, looking sadly at the boy.

Atom just chuckled to himself, slapping his hand on Retina's shoulder. "Well, you guys have fun in the Capitol this year. Wouldn't want to be in your place for the world." And with that he hopped to his feet, and began the long walk back to Victor's Village. No doubt his daughter was waiting impatiently for his return.

* * *

**Avion Tore, Victor of the 27th Hunger Games**

* * *

"I think it's time for you to retire Trayston," Avion greeted with an unfriendly scowl.

The mayor glanced up, his eyes seeing and unseeing, as he held out his hand to Avion. "Oh you should know better Avion. Can't stop when there's still work to be done," Mitchell said, his hand feeling weak when Avion grasped it. Avion nodded, his eyes lingering on the man. His late son, Conner, would have been seventeen this year. Avion's lips pursed together. He knew the minute he saw Trayston's boy that he didn't stand a chance. It was just common sense to take the girl, who was older and clever. He was in the business of bringing home Victors, not easing the dead to their grave, after all.

That never really fixed the guilt though.

"Well you should think on it," Avion said before walking over to his seat.

Of course, Kiva was in it.

"Kiva, move," he said in his low threatening voice.

"Avion" she said startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. She glanced back at Clio, who was making a comically sour face, before giggling. With a bony arm, she traced some kind of shape on Clio's forehead. Then they were both grinning and giggling like they were five year olds, Avion's presence was already completley forgotten. With an exasperated growl, Avion took Kiva's seat beside Metro.

There were few things he hated more in this world than morphling.

"Could be worse boss," Metro said with a shaky smile. Avion sighed, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It couldn't be worse if they were both dead, kid," he said. At least he had Metro. The boy kept him sane.

Trayston's speech came and went, and soon Mazy was reaching into the bucket, picking a name out. "Keela Monroe," she called. The sea of kids parted as they turned to stare at the Game's latest victim. She had brown hair that fell down to her chest in a messy tangle. Her eyes were wide with shock as she stood there unmoving. She glanced around at the crowd subconsciously before uncomfortably drawing into herself, pinning her eyes onto some spot on the ground, and pushing her way up to the stage,

"And our boy... Dorren Hallows," Reyna went on.

A tall wiry boy, also with the seventeen year old section, stepped forward. His blonde eyebrows were raised in surprise, and for a moment he looked jarred. The surprise disappeared almost instantaneously though, and he walked up to the stage with his hands in his pockets. He was almost unnervingly calm as he jumped up the steps onto the stage. With a curved smile, he pulled a rose from the sleeve, tipping his fedora hat as he handed it to the escort.

"For you ma'am," he smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Reyna took the rose looking smug. Avion felt the annoyance stirring in his stomach already. Great, they had another trickster, like Dust the year before. He could feel his patience wearing dangerously thin already. On the other side of the escort, Keela was scowling.

"Ladies and gentleman, your tributes for the 67th Hunger Games," Reyna announced.

"So you coming with me to the Capital this year boss?" Metro asked, looking hopeful as he eyed the two tributes. Avion only came when he thought he might have a Victor.

"I suppose so," Avion said carefully, looking at the two older tributes that would be dying for District Six this year. He would not handle the boy. He hated tricks, and after Dust last year, he wouldn't put up with another flippant child. But the girl, there was something there. She had a chance, and probably wouldn't get on his nerves too much.

It wasn't often he mentored two years in a row. Hopefully he wouldn't regret it.

* * *

**Blight Ramsey, Victor of the 47th Hunger Games**

* * *

"You okay Ash?" Blight asked as he walked beside the old man onto the stage platform.

"Stop hovering over me like I'm some child," the old man bit back, his good eye staring daggers into Blight. The younger Victor sighed as he took his seat on stage beside Twiddle Dawson, Seven's newest escort.

"How's the family doing Blight?" the woman asked, a kind smile stretching across her blue lips.

"They're doing fine, Little Glade took her first steps the other day. Holly's beside herself," Blight smiled, appreciating the concern.

"She must be adorable," Twiddle said, a wistful smile on her face. Last year, when they sent a new escort, Blight had assumed she was going to be just as intolerable as the rest of the crazies he'd lived through. Twiddle was slightly different though. She had the same sickening deep engrossment with the Games, but she obsessed over them with more empathy. She cried ten buckets of tears last year when Rowen died, and then another twenty when Kan was killed.

Blight had never seen an escort cry before, at least not out of sorrow or grief. It was almost as if Twiddle was actually human.

"Damn crowd's gotten bigger this year," Ash complained loudly from beside Blight. It hadn't, as far as Blight could tell. He wondered if the old man's vision was going now as well.

"I better start things off," the mayor decided from Twiddle's other side as she glanced at her watch. She looked nervous- probably because it was her first reaping. There had been a power shift in Seven in December. The old mayor just disappeared one day, and this woman, Jordan, showed up out of no where.

She stepped forward and quickly made the monotonous speech that Blight had heard far too many times. Twiddle squeezed his hand before she went up to the microphone- a kind gesture.

"I don't like her," Ash grumbled as she went through the usually introduction.

"You don't like anyone," Blight sighed, sinking a little in his chair.

"I like you," Ash said after a moment's pause. Blight sighed. He supposed he should feel honored or something.

"Carmine Beckett," Twiddle called. Ash groaned loudly as a small girl with black curly hair emerged from the back row. She looked starved half to death. Her eyes were bugged wide, and she looked like she was hyperventilating. Hysterical tears flowed down her face as she clearly fought them off. Blight's heart sank. She was only thirteen years old.

"That one's yours," Ash whispered. "I don't do little kids."

"And our male tribute is... Sylvan Perry!"

The boy was older with short disheveled dark brown hair, and pale skin. He looked confused at first, as one of the boys around him pushed him up towards the stage. When he finally realized what just happened, thinly veiled horror welled in his eyes.

"Damn boy's no better," Ash complained as he watched the two tributes. "They're both too young."

And then last year they were both too soft, and the year before that they were too nervous or too sadistic. Their tributes were never good enough. Apparently, that's why they only had two living Victors left. District Seven just wasn't cut out for the Hunger Games, if you asked Ash Lancewood.

Blight didn't really believe that though. They'd get lucky eventually. No Victor ever died without seeing another from their District crowned. He had to hold onto that. The odds would be in their favor eventually. One day, he would have somebody else to share this stage with, other than Ash.

* * *

**Lea Paylor, Victor of the 49th Hunger Games**

* * *

How many times a day did the words _I hate the Capitol _flow through her mind? Not enough, that was for sure.

"Fetch me the my make up bag," Persephone demanded, her pink eye lashes fluttering.

"Your arms work," Lea retorted, a deep scowl on her face. Persephone cleared her throat and shot her a dangerous glare. Lea rolled her eyes as she raised to her feet. Really, she was too nice. There was no reason she should be allowing Persephone order her around, given where she was from, and her line of work. Handing the women a heavy black bag that was filled to the brim with cosmetics, Lea returned to her seat, crossing her arms.

"Avanna sweetie, you look so pale, let me just fix you really quick. I can't believe that Helena put that skin tone on you," Persephone said as she hovered over Eight's latest Victor.

"Good grief, leave the poor girl alone," Lea practically spat as she shooed the mentor away from the poor girl. Avanna's hadn't responded to either of them during the whole ordeal. It was like she couldn't even see them there in the first place, even though her eyes were open. "Wake up," Lea said, giving her a healthy nudge in the shoulder. "If the cameras were rolling right now, the Capitol might think you're dead."

"Oh, sorry Lea," Avanna muttered, jumping slightly at Lea's touch. The older Victor pursed her lips, looking down at Avanna with a hard eye. She had seen this downward spiral before, and she shuddered to think what the poor girl was going to be like in ten years.

"Have you seen Cecelia?" Avanna asked.

Glancing over her shoulder, Lea shook her head. Rollag was sitting in his chair, listening to Woof spin some sort of absurd tale about Dexter- his deceased brother. There was still no sign of their fifth and final Victor though. It wasn't like Cecelia to be late for something. "I bet Mack is holding her up," Lea decided with a devilish grin. Woof suddenly was staring at her.

"What about my grandson?" he asked, his voice almost sounding angry.

Lea laughed. "I think he's off ogling at Cecelia somewhere."

"Nonsense," Woof brushed her off.

"Sorry, what where you saying about Dexter?" Lea rolled her eyes. Seconds later, Woof was backpedaling about how he had plans to visit Dexter later that night. The old fart wanted them all to think he was going to commit suicide. Idiot.

Cecelia showed up a few minutes later, wheezing as she darted onto the stage. "I'm so sorry I'm late," she breathed, cheeks red. Persephone gave her an indignant huff as she started the ceremonies. Lea smiled as she sank down into her seat. She was happy for Cecelia. Mack was good to her, and she deserved something good in her life after all that had happened to her.

A few minutes later, Persephone was pulling a name out of the girl's bowl. "Paisley Erwin!"

Somewhere in the middle sections, someone pushed a small girl with unruly dirty blonde hair forward. She stumbled at first while fear swept over her expression. She chewed on her lip, looking like she was ready to cry, while she walked to the stage.

Well, at least she wasn't being theatrical, Lea decided. That was the only positive she could think of though. The girl looked young.

"Loden Tsiperal."

The boy was younger, though his reaction was even more toned down than the girl's. He walked to the stage with mechanical movements. He took each breath robotically, with decisive purpose, as if he thought he might forget should he be left to his own devices. He was lanky, with short dark brown hair and tanned skin.

Lea sighed as the boy stepped onto stage. "Give Avanna the girl," she told Rollag. "I think she'll be easier for her to work with. You know, more relatable and stuff." He grunted beside her in assent.

Though she wasn't mentoring this year, she would still make the trip to the Capitol. Avanna wasn't fit to mentor all by herself, and Cecelia deserved a break after bringing someone home. As there was no way Woof could be coaxed back into the Capitol, that meant Lea would be going again.

God, she hated the Capitol.

* * *

**Gwyneth Weicker, Victor of the 52nd Hunger Games**

* * *

District Nine always smelled like summer this time of the year. It was just the right temperature, not too warm, not too hot. Really it was perfect gardening weather. Gwyneth thought she might try planting tomatoes this year. Their red fruit would look just lovely against the brown dirt.

"It's just gorgeous out here, isn't it Flax?" she hummed as she rocked back and forth in her chair. Her hair was pulled back into two high pig tails, and they swished in the air as she moved. Seeing them made her want to laugh.

"Sorry?" Flax grumbled, looking at her with his studious eye. He really did need to get his ears fixed, the man could never hear a word she said.

"I said it was lovely out today," Gwyneth repeated, slightly louder.

He raised a grey eyebrow, as a shadow passed in front of his eyes. "Gwen, you realize what day it is?" he asked cautiously.

"Of course I do. It's May 15th," she trilled back, rolling her eyes.

"Gwen, it's reaping day," he said, pulling up a crippled finger and pointing it outward. "You're on the stage, remember?"

Gwyneth followed his gaze, her gut constricting when she saw the crowd of children staring up at her. Suddenly her eyes lost focus, and she looked distant. Her mind spun around, and she retreated inward, towards the past. Once again, she was living in another day, during another time. Flax hesitantly grabbed her hand, shaking her gently. "Gwen, now's not the time for this. It's a beautiful day remember?" he said through tight lips.

"Oh yes, I think so too," Gwyneth smiled immediately, returning to her rocking. Turning to his side, Flax began talking to Bran, shutting her out. That was okay though, she liked the quiet. She could focus on the sky that way.

Up ahead, some woman was standing in front of her, though she wasn't paying much attention. Suddenly, a voice blared through the air, interrupting the peace.

"Siobhan Jay!"

Gwyneth felt her palms becoming clammy again, as she looked around for the source of the voice. Somewhere behind her, she saw a large speaker made of ugly black plastic. She sent it an unappreciative glare before returning her eyes forwards. She found a new figure standing before her. A pale girl with brown hair had her back to Gwyneth. Her shoulders were shaking, and her fists were clenched into tight balls.

"Nathan Sucellus!"

There went the speaker again. Now there was a boy next to the girl. His skin was dark, and he was thickly built. Like the girl, he seemed to be trembling. Gwyneth could remember a time when she trembled like that. It was an awful day. She had been chosen to play in this Game. A Game that she wished to take no part in.

"Gwen you ready," Flax's voice cut in again. She looked up, sadness in her eyes.

"Yeah, I guess I am," she sighed as reality swam through her eyes.

She supposed she was still playing the Game really. After all, they never truly ended.

* * *

**Eve Catter, Victor of the 44th Hunger Games**

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be okay with this Angus? I'm sure I would be perfectly capable-"

"I'm not a child Eve," he growled, looking at her with spiteful eyes. Eve pursed her lips as she stared at him, as if that might change his mind somehow.

"If you go, you have to try. Those kids deserve someone who might actually lose some sleep for them," she continued to pester.

"Because Madison is going to lose sleep for them?" Angus raised an eyebrow dangerously. On Eve's left, Madison's frame went rigid, though she didn't react. She was still pretending that she couldn't hear Angus and Eve's conversation. Hopefully things would stay that way. They never saw eye to eye on things, but somehow these last two years had been worse.

"I think she cared about them, yes," Even said, looking slightly taken aback. Her lower lip pouted outwards the way it usually did when she was upset. She hated the way the two of them acted when they were around each other. Ever since Cora died, Angus had been suffering, she knew it, but he was too busy spitting venom at Madison to let her help him. They were fellow Victors for God's sake. They should understand each other.

"Well, then you're more crazy than I thought you were," Angus scowled. Eve sighed. Those two poor tributes were going to have a rough time in the Capitol. Somehow, Madison and Angus had decided it would be a good idea to mentor together. Well, actually it was more like Madison had taunted Angus, and now he felt some ridiculous obligation to go prove something to her.

Either way, the two were going to end up on that train together later, and the odds of them remaining civil with each other were very slim.

The mayor shot her an empathetic look down the row as he got up to go speak. Eve quieted as she dedicated the man her full attention. The reaping wasn't a light matter, and she wouldn't dare disrespect the two tributes by chatting straight through the worst day of their lives. The mayor finished his speech, and Cyran replaced him.

"Nice to be seeing you all again," he said, licking his lips with his flickering tongue. "Time to find out who are latest victims are going to be." He reached his long fingers into the girl's bowl. "Vixen Rhodes!"

A girl from the seventeen year old section stepped forwards slowly. She looked stunned beyond comprehension. Though her eyes looked wet, she didn't cry. An eerie hush fell on the crowd as she fought her surfacing emotions on stage. It appeared she was well-loved. That always made it more tragic.

"And our male... Micah Hawk," Cyran continued.

A dark skinned boy with a closely shaved head stepped forth, his fists balled. A deep scowl was on his face as he walked to the stage. He'd fit right in with Madison and Angus, Even thought sullenly. Catching their spiteful stares, Even sat up. "Keep it simple, Madison you take the girl, Angus you take the boy," she said sternly before the could fabricate an argument. "They're both older, so it's all fair."

Neither agreed to the terms, but neither disagreed. Even took that as a positive.

"Ladies and Gentleman your tributes for the 67th Hunger Games!" Cyran drawled.

"You two just do your best okay?" Eve said, standing up. "Don't have too much fun in the Capitol."

"Couldn't if I tried," Madison said, glaring at Angus. And then the two disappeared. Eve sighed. Perhaps she should tag along to keep an eye on them, just in case.

* * *

**Seeder Carson, Victor of the 33rd Hunger Games**

* * *

"Chaff, why don't you put that away while you're up here. You'll get your fair share of drinking in the Capitol with Haymitch," Seeder asked quietly.

Chaff looked down at the bottle of gin in his hand and smiled. "Sure mom," he said, nudging her with his stubby arm.

She smiled appreciatively as the two took their seats on the stage. The mayor looked up at them underneath his thick spectacles. "Is Pepper not coming with you two this year?" he asked in his business tone.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that. She's in a bad way. I wouldn't have left her at all if I didn't have any other options. I don't know if she'll make it until we get back. I was hoping you could-," Seeder began. She could feel Chaff's good hand lacing its way through hers, as he gave her a pained stare. She didn't miss him pulling out his gin bottle and taking another swig, but the gesture was appreciated.

"Consider it done," the mayor interrupted. "I'll send my girl to check up on her every day."

"And my brother's gonna be right across the street for the month, remember?" Chaff said.

"Yeah, I know," Seeder said. Her eyes were sad. It killed her knowing that Pepper, after all the good she had done, was going to die alone, with nobody to ease her into the next life, all because the Games were occupying Chaff and her. The Games had taken Pepper's mind, and they were haunting her now. It was awful. Of course, she didn't have any other option. The tributes were going to need her just as much as Pepper. How could she possibly prioritize the dying woman over two children who, technically, still had a chance, no matter how slim.

"I better start things," the mayor said.

"He'll handle things," Chaff mumbled, almost incoherently, as the mayor began speaking. "Can't be any worse than when I tried changing her IV last week right?" He grinned, laughing at his own joke. Seeder just shuddered at the memory, choosing to pretend it didn't happen instead.

Lewar Constantine took the mic, and began his usual routine. A few seconds late her was reaching his arm into the bowl, and pulling out a slip. "Emmer Connifer!"

A small girl with fair skin and long brown hair approached the stage. She stared at the ground looking completely ashen as she watched. Seeder saw one lone tear fall to the ground from her cheek. Immediately, she could feel her heart melting in dismay. How old could this child be? One of the younger tributes to enter the Games, that's for sure. "I'll take her," Seeder whispered, touching Chaff's shoulder. He nodded, his face vacant.

"Baric Yule!"

A slim boy, also young, with short brown hair walked to the stage, his eyes pinned on the floor as he walked up, absolutely terrified. For a moment, Seeder feared that maybe he needed her too, but no. Chaff was a good mentor, despite his drinking. He would handle the boy's sponsors well. They were a team, after all, and now that Pepper was practically already gone, Seeder couldn't afford to forget that.

* * *

**Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games**

* * *

Haymitch twirled the knife in his hand watching the blade catch the sun and glare momentarily every time it came through its full arch. It was a large butcher's knife, the kind that he slept near at night. It was sharp too, the way he liked it. This was the kind of knife that you could kill someone with, if you needed to. A good knife.

"Who let him come up here with that?" Effie trilled, looking baffled.

"What, you've never seen a knife? I thought you were a big fan of the Hunger Games," Haymitch said, raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous woman.

"The entire nation is going to see us Haymitch. What sort of impression is that thing going to give?" she huffed clicking her heels towards him and holding out her hand. With a drunk grin, he whirled it around and threw it to the floor. It made a distinct thunking noise as it stuck in the wood between her feet. After a rather dramatic gasp, her white powdered cheeks turned red.

"Haymitch," she gasped.

He hiccuped a bubbly laugh. "And you think you've got the authority to help out some of these brats in the Games," he shook his head.

Effie pursed her lips, ignoring him in his drunk stupor. He must have drank an entire bottle of whiskey this morning already. No doubt he'd be sick later, but really, that was the routine now. As bad as he could be during the year, he was always ten times worst on reaping day- the one time when he could actually be of use to society. Mayor Underseer sighed and stepped up to the microphone, deciding to start a few minutes early this year.

Haymitch slouched down in his chair, fingering a flask in his jacket pocket. Then Effie was talking, her sickeningly sweet Capitol accent buzzing through his foggy mind.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor," she said, as she always did, just before reaching into the big bowl of female names.

"Ayla Forester," she called. Some merchant girl's jaw dropped in one of the middle row. Immediately, Haymitch could hear her mouth start running like a broken motor.

"Please, this has to be a mistake," she cried as peacekeepers began to surround her. They dragged her to the stage, as she continued to protest.

Haymitch let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like a horse. "Who do you think you are? _No it can't be me, I'm everybody's best friend. It can't be me_. Please. Get over yourself kid," he called out loudly, ending his sentence with a loud belch. The girl stared at him for a moment, looking like she was ready to break.

"Ernest Berridge," Effie called out hastily before Haymitch stole too much of the show. A boy, again from one of the merchant families stepped forward. Mumbling travelled through the audience. It wasn't often two rich kids took the walk to Hell. The boy was slightly older than the girl, and immediately, he let his nerves get the better of him as he wiped sweaty palms onto his pants.

"Well, how exciting, District Twelve, your tributes," Effie said, holding their hands up.

Haymitch looked at the two tributes before him, some logic floating through the alcohol. Maybe he had a chance this year- the boy looked strong enough. Then again, who was he kidding? He was alone and the Capitol liked it that way. It was his punishment for his Victory. These two kids would just be his latest victims.

* * *

**Is It Any Wonder? by Keane**

* * *

**A/N Sorry for the really long update and the really long chapter. I don't usually like going over 6000 words, but this was like 8000. My bad, but I couldn't cut it down much further. I'll keep this note short though. Here's the mentors, next up is the train rides P1, where we'll see some tribute interactions. **

**Until next time**

**Tales**


	7. Shadow of the Day (Part 1)

**Shadow of the Day**

"In cards and flowers on your window, your friends all plead for you to stay"

* * *

District 1:

Jeremite Garnet (18) and Biathyst Darlucaan (17)

* * *

The security that Hunger Games tributes received was rather impressive. Biathist couldn't help but appreciate it as she emerged from the Justice building. Two peacekeepers led her towards the luxurious car parked at the foot of the more flanked her on each side, and a fifth trailed from the rear. She was precious cargo now, clearly.

With an easy smirk, she lowered herself into the vehicle that would take her to the train station. April Fevers, the escort was sitting in the drivers seat, and she smiled as Biathyst sat down. "Very good, you're right on time," she said with a distinct cluck of her tongue. "Maybe we won't be late for the train this year. Usually tributes like dawdling in their goodbyes."

Biathyst raised an eyebrow, relatively annoyed at the subtle reminder about her lack luster goodbyes. She'd only had one three minute session in which she'd managed to say goodbye to all of her friends. Most tributes liked bragging about the mob that came to visit them after they volunteered. Not Biathyst though. No, her parents hadn't even bothered visiting her. Not that their absence was a surprise. She hadn't seen them since they kicked her out years ago.

Of course, there was no way she was going to tell April that.

"Oh, well, I'd rather be in the Capitol sooner rather than later," Biathyst shrugged.

April smirked, saying nothing, though she clearly approved of Biathyst's attitude.

Fifteen minutes passed by before Jeremite emerged from the Justice Building. It wasn't really that long a wait, but clearly it was just long enough to start to annoy April. Biathyst could barely see her District partner approaching as his own security detail surrounded him. Soon enough though he ducked into the car joining them. The vehicle jerked slightly as April stepped hard on the accelerator.

"Oops," she said as Jeremite lurched to the side, fumbling with his seatbelt.

"No harm done," Jeremite said as he clicked himself in, his eyes already moving towards the window, hoping to catch a few last glimpses of his loved ones before they boarded the train. Biathyst didn't bother hiding the fact that she was sizing him up. They knew each other of course, from the years at the Academy, but they weren't close by any means. Other than a few passing words exchanged between classmates, they'd barely ever spoken to each other.

"You've got some lipstick on your cheek," Biathyst informed him, raising an amused eyebrow.

He glanced at her, a light blush surfacing in his cheeks as his fingers brushed up against the red stain. "Ah, my girlfriend must have left it," he mumbled. Then with an added grin he winked at her. "Best leave it there right? It'll make a good impression on the Capitol."

"Another heart breaker from District One? That's no fun," Biathyst said, wrinkling her nose. "Everyone's takes that angle."

"Who said I was going to be breaking any hearts? I said I had a girlfriend," he replied.

"I know Agatha," Biathyst rolled her eyes. Her tone shifting as she pronounced the name. Jeremite's ever so charming smile faltered slightly.

"Do you have something to say about her? Because if so, then just tell it to my face," he said in a low growl. His muscles were tense, and his eyes accusing. Biathyst raised an eyebrow. She didn't think he'd be so protective of the girl. Agatha had a bit of a reputation, after all.

"I've got nothing to say about her," Biathyst said her gaze meeting his challenge.

"Play nice back there," April clicked.

Almost as quickly as his composure deteriorated, it reappeared, and he slung his muscular arm around Biathyst's shoulders. "Don't worry, we're friends," he said with a light laugh. April looked at them critically through the rear view mirror. Biathyst smiled though, playing along with him.

His heart rate picked up slightly. That was too close. He didn't expect to get that bad so soon. He hadn't expected her to bring up Agatha though. Swallowing, he moved his gaze back to the streets outside his window. He needed to control himself. If he couldn't, well, then maybe he didn't deserve the crown at all.

* * *

District Three:

Zync Olssen (16) and Aeriel Hobbs (15)

* * *

The camera flashes were blinding. It was a good thing he wasn't epileptic, because if he was, he'd be on the ground right now. Zync swayed on his feet, feeling unsteady. Everything was happening at a million miles per hour. His name was called, and ever since he felt like he had been walking through some kind of dream. He hadn't cried yet because he hadn't been able to process what was happening. He wasn't even able to form a coherent sentence when his mother came to say good bye to him. She had been such a wreck. His goodbye hadn't came out right.

He needed more time.

Finally firm hands led turned him around and led him into the train. The door swished shut behind him, and the second they closed, silence surrounded him. Beside him, the girl tribute let out a shaky breath. "Th-that was a lot," she breathed, looking stunned.

He stared at her, seeing her for the first time. It took him a moment before he could remember her name- Aeriel. If she had been picked after him, he probably wouldn't have been able to recall who she was at all. "You can say that again," he said, looking at her eyes. She looked shaken beyond belief, but her eyes weren't puffy. She hadn't cried, and now more than ever, he really appreciated how strong that made her look.

He was happy that he had held himself together too. Taking another deep breath, he collected himself and poked his head down the train corridor. "I guess that's the way to the lounge?" he asked aloud before taking the first step down the hallway.

"I think so," Aeriel said, following him nervously. He found a door and pushed it open, finding himself in an elegant and expensive compartment. His eyes were immediately drawn to the table of food pressed up against the corner. His stomach rumbled. There was a time that a spread like that wouldn't have been so foreign to him, before his Neko divorced his mom and took all their money. That time was so long ago though. He and his brat sisters hadn't eaten well in years.

"Hopefully that's for us, because I'm just going to go for it," he said, shooting Aeriel a half-hearted mischievous grin.

She watched from the other end of the room as he helped himself. Part of her was disgusted with him. How could he even think about eating at a time like this? She didn't dare say anything though. He was her District Partner, the only one who might truly understand what she meant when she said the word home. She wanted him to like her, so that maybe they'd be able to hold nostalgic conversations and what not.

Maybe he'd even make a good ally, but she wasn't quite ready to think about that yet. It would be better to see if there was someone who was a bit more... intimidating maybe? Even though he was a year older than her, he was short, and definitely didn't look that strong. She wanted to meet the other tributes first- see if she had options before she made decisions. Finding some sense of security was the most important thing right now. She wasn't sure how yet, but by the end of next week, she would find some way to feel safe.

Even if it was just for a little while.

* * *

District Five:

Stoker Tachen (14) and Cobi "Bo" Kasper (15)

* * *

Cobi Kasper was some kind of criminal, that was what he knew. Stoker sat curled on the couch, his small eyes watching the doorway with terrified curiosity. They had been on the train for about twenty minutes now, and she was bound to come back into the main compartment soon. Stoker glanced over to Lucas and Retina, the two victors who would be mentoring them for the next couple of days. They were sitting in silence at the table, Retina looking borderline murderous.

"You should watch the recaps," Lucas mumbled absently, catching Stoker's stare. "It'll pass the time."

Stoker nodded glancing at the television. He was scared to reply, knowing that he'd just say something wrong. He didn't want to piss off his mentor just moments after he had gotten on the train. Clicking on the reaping recaps, he shrunk into himself. The first face to appear was the boy from Two. He knew already, he was screwed.

The screen was moving onto the bios of District Four when Bo finally reappeared from the hallway. Her hair was damp, and the grime was cleaned from her skin. She didn't look like someone who had spent the last week in jail, though Stoker knew otherwise.

"Better?" Bo asked, spinning around. She had gotten new cloths too.

Retina, her mentor looked her over. "Much better," she nodded with a critical eye. Bo nodded, feeling shaky. It had only been about a week since she had talked to a regular person, but she felt like she was in some sort of uncharted territory. Words usually came easy to her. One week, and she felt like she was a different person. Retina, seeing her hesitance, signaled towards the chair beside her. "An early dinner's ready if you want it," she said. "Unless they happened to feed you well in prison, you know."

Bo nodded, walking over and taking a seat beside her mentor. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Stoker sneaking a glance at her. When their eyes connected, he glanced away in a jumpy panic. "You want to come eat too?" she asked.

"Th-that's okay. I'm supposed to watch the reaping, Mr. Penn told me to," Stoker squeaked. Bo glanced over at Stoker's mentor, to see his reaction, but he didn't seem to be paying attention. His eyes were distant.

"Okay, well, if that's what you want," she said, grabbing her plate and visiting the buffet. Sitting down beside Retina, she began to dig in. Food had never tasted so good in her life.

"It's probably better this way," Retina mumbled quietly, her eyes trained on the boy as well.

"Sorry?" Bo raised an eyebrow.

"It's better you two aren't friendly. The kid's awkward. We've been sitting here for twenty minutes and he hasn't done anything but look at me and Lucas like we've got extra limbs. And he's young. It's better you find some more reliable allies. That's all," Retina shrugged.

Bo nodded, finding her feet. Finding a reliable ally was something she could do. "Do you have somebody in mind?" she asked.

"In fact I do," Retina smirked.

Bo tentatively smiled. This didn't seem so hard just yet. She could do this. Just one more month of Hell, and she'd come home, free her brother, and everything would be all right.

She could do this.

* * *

District Seven:

Sylvan Perry (15) and Carmine Beckett (13)

* * *

"Out! Out of my sight right now!" Ash bellowed at the top of his lungs. "I swear if another damn tribute-"

"I-I'm sorry. I just thought that maybe you'd want some help," Sylvan shot his hands into the air, eyes wide in alarm. Ash's brittle frame seethed as he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the wall by himself to pick up his walking stick.

"Learn to use your eyes dimwit. I can walk perfectly fine. I swear, your just like the Murcius boy. Now out OUT!" Ash screamed. Sylvan's mouth hung open, slightly stunned. How was he supposed to know that the old fart was perfectly healthy? All he'd done for the entire afternoon was complain about how injured he was. He carried around a freaking walking stick! If that didn't spell out the word crippled than nothing did.

Glancing around the room, he searched for some vindication. Of course, he found none. Blight, the other victor, was staring at his feet, avoiding a confrontation, and Carmine, the little girl who was now his District partner, was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. She looked as if she expected this to happen. When she was chosen, he figured at least she would probably be nice, being so young, but no. The kid had been almost as standoffish and snappy towards him as Ash.

"Alright, I'll go to bed," Sylvan said, completely flabbergasted. This was what he got for being nice to the old man. Well, he'd learned his lesson. Walking down the hall and into his room, he sagged into himself. He missed his parents and Aries and Roanna. He missed everything about his home. The Hunger Games was no place for him.

Reaching into his pocket, he picked out the bracelet that Roanna had given him. It was decorated with several small wooden figured, just like the ones he always was carving. They were poorly crafted though, done by the inexperienced hand of his best friend. Clutching it to his chest, he let out a shaky sigh. This was all he had left of them all now. He felt so alone.

Time passed and he lay still in his bed, trying to fall asleep, but of course, he couldn't. About an hour later, the light treads of Carmine's feet echoed through the hall. She must be heading to bed too. Then to his surprise, the door to his room pushed open and her small head poked through. "Carmine?" he asked tentatively, wiping his cheeks to make sure he wasn't crying.

She startled when he moved. She didn't think he'd still be awake. "Oh, um, hi," she said. "I must have had the wrong room."

Before he could say anything else, she shut the door closed and scurried down the hall. She couldn't believe herself, going in there like that. She had been thinking that maybe, the two of them could be allies. But then again, she knew that was wrong too. She had to do this herself. That's what her father said during her good bye's. Trust no one but herself. It couldn't matter that Sylvan seemed nice, or even that she was just 13 years old. People respected independence, and for her, really, there was no other way.

* * *

District Nine:

Nathan Sucellus (18) and Siobhan Jay (17)

* * *

Nathan let out a loud unscrupulous belch as he downed yet another glass of the fine wine the Capitol had laid out for them. It had been too long since he'd had the money to get quality drunk, but today that changed. Now, he could drown himself in as much liquor as he wanted,and nobody could do anything about it. It sure seemed like a good idea right now, at least, as he sat beside a half empty bottle of who-knows-what.

"And you're not going to do anything about that," Siobhan asked, her eyes bearing into Flax Vernon's as she clenched her hands into fists.

"It's his life," Flax whispered, shooting Gwenyth a worried glance. "Let him waste it however he likes."

"He's your tribute," Siobhan retorted.

Again, Flax glanced towards Gwenyth. "To the contrary hun, you both are. She's only going to help you so much before she completely disappears on you. Got it? I give it until maybe the third day of training, and she's going to be talking all this nonsense about how gorgeous the sky is and about how lovely and wonderful a world we have. And if you try and knock some sense into her, she'll freak out. And when that happens, you're going to be my tribute too. So I'd be thankful that you're District partner over there seems to be a little out of his wits. Cause I take favorites," Flax hissed.

Siobhan didn't say anything, as she pursed her lips. This wasn't right, or fair. She had half a mind to go over to Nathan herself and throw his gin out the window. She checked herself though. This was the Hunger Games. There could only be one winner. Maybe Flax was right, and this wasn't such a bad thing for her.

"What are you lookin' at?" Nathan asked, seeing Flax and her looking.

"The ridiculous amount of alcohol that you're devouring," Siobhan responded instinctively. It wasn't until Nathan's expression twisted into a deep scowl that she thought better of the words she just said.

"I'm having the time of my life here. I would too if I were you. You've got an expiration date too now," he said, his words biting.

"I'm not dead yet," Siobhan said, her voice hard. She didn't sound that convincing.

"You're lucky you're a girl," Nathan said, onto the carpet beside him. "If you weren't I'd punch you." Siobhan felt her body stiffen, and her heart tighten. Kristoff's image floated through her mind for a moment before she pushed it out. Maybe this was better. She got away from him now, without having to break up with him.

"That's not going to stop you in the arena, I hope," Siobhan went on, challenging him. "Because of it is, than maybe you do actually have an expiration date."

Nathan's expression hardened and he downed the rest of his glass. "Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a fact," Siobhan finished.

Flax finally interrupted them. "Quit it, both of you," he said, slamming his withered fist onto the table. "You'll have plenty of time for fighting later. Now if I were you, I might be going to bed. Exhaustion doesn't look well on tributes during the Chariot rides."

Siobhan didn't say anything more. Instead she turned on her heels, and stormed into down the hallway. She couldn't even pin point exactly what she was mad at. It was an awful feeling, knowing that she was going to die. And maybe that's what she was furious about- that Nathan seemed to just accept it. No teenager should ever have to accept death like it was inevitable. She refused to. She had her mom and her uncle and friends, and even Kristoff. It was so much to live for. Dying couldn't be an option.

* * *

District Eleven:

Barric Yule (15) and Emmer Connifer (13)

* * *

At around midnight, the lights in most of the train compartments flickered off. It was like an unspoken curfew imposed by whoever ran the electric. Go to bed, the darkness seemed to say. Naturally, Barric was ignoring the unspoken rules. He couldn't fall asleep, and so like a ghost, he drifted out of his room, and down the hallway. He didn't turn towards the dining room that he had spent most of the day in. Instead he headed towards the opposite direction, hoping to do some exploration. The only sound that made its way through the night was the gentle hum of the train's engine, as it pumped its way towards the Capitol and towards the Games.

"Barric?" a sleepy voice spoke in a hushed whisper.

The boy glanced over his shoulder to find Emmer peering out her door, rubbing her sleepy eyes. "Oh, it's just you," he said. She nodded with a yawn.

"Yeah, I'm kind of afraid to fall asleep," she whispered timidly, looking embarrassed.

"Oh, well, I'm in the same boat, I guess. Sleep doesn't seem like a good idea right now," Barric shrugged. "I was going exploring, you want to come?"

Emmer nodded with a shrug. She always liked exploring back at home; although, her parents didn't always let her wander through the parts of town that she wanted to check out. This seemed harmless enough.

"Did your parents used to give you presents and stuff on your birthday, and like on reaping day and stuff?" Barric asked to fill the silence.

"They got me a new pair of white shoes this-" Emmer began.

"My parents got me a new ball," Barric cut her off. "But that's not the point. I mean, have you seen all the stuff they've got on this train? It's crazy. I mean, I wish my parents were this loaded. My birthday would have been awesome."

"Oh yeah, I guess so," Emmer shrugged, slightly annoyed that he had cut her off. "I always liked what my parents gave me though. My mom works in politics, so, you know. "

"Politics? I mean that's fine if you like that. My parents work as supervisors in the fields. I'm going to be like them when I grow up. Er- at least I was," Barric said, frowning. Emmer softened slightly, feeling guilty that she'd bragged about her mom. She knew better. Even if Barric was a little bit... self-centered, he was like her. They were both going to die.

The corridor they were walking through dead ended into a door. Exchanging a glance with Emmer, Barric pushed it open, revealing a breathtaking lounge. They must have been in the back of the train because a huge window stretched from one end of the room to the other, and they could see the tracks falling behind them as they moved. The two kids hustled over to the window, wide-eyed. They must have been passing through one of the lower Districts because a run down city surrounded them, and the sky was filled with smoke.

"I've been to the city once-" Barric began to say. Emmer tuned him out quickly though. She'd heard enough stories about him and all of the adventures he'd been on with his friends over the past couple years. She didn't think that he was lying or anything, he just seemed to exaggerate some things out of proportion. And honestly, Emmer didn't want to worry about Barric right now. She looked out the window with awe, watching strangers flash by. Some of them even bothered to look up at the train as they passed. She waved to them absently.

And to be honest, part of her was kind of excited to go to the Capitol. If she forgot about the death match she'd be participating in at the end of the week, than all she had to think about was all the people she was going to meet and the sights and extravagancies she'd get to enjoy. It could be fun, maybe. Glancing at Barric again, she sighed to herself. At the very least, maybe she'd have some adventures to tell her friends about when she got home.

Or rather, _if _she got home.

* * *

**Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park**

* * *

**A/N So how long has it been since I updated last? Very long? Yeah, I'm super sorry about that. I'm still here though, in case you were worried. Real life is just a little bit busy right now. I got a job (cause I'm broke) and so between that and school and the holidays, I have like next to no free time. I actually just started this chapter yesterday, and have been doing some power writing. So yeah, sorry if this chapter is a bit rough (or if some of the interactions are a little repetitive) It's hard to be super original in a two day time span. But yeah. hopefully the next wait period will be shorter. Next chapter will be the even Districts. I think I might encompass the train rides up to a little bit before chariots. I thinking about including some stylists action just for some variety. So yeah,**

**Until Next Time,**

**Tales**

**P.s I saw Catching Fire, and it was SUPER AMAZING. Every single scene with Johanna Mason was my favorite. **


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